Protected by the HERO (27 page)

Micah had learned everything she knew about computers and gadgets from her good ole friend Stan. Even if he was currently in hiding, she could feel his presence as she rapidly typed and tapped on the touchscreen computer monitors in the office. She entered and re-entered passwords. Time was running out. She needed to figure this out fast. And suddenly a name popped in her head.
Last Standing Renegades.
No way. He wouldn’t. She entered the words and gained access to the main server. She would contemplate
that
password at a later time. Right now, she was in his files. She popped in the extra special flash drive that Stan had created for her, that downloaded files in quarter seconds and Micah got to download a bunch of files before they heard a commotion outside the General’s office.

The cyborgs had arrived, along with the General. Drake and Micah blasted away as they backed toward the other end of the room. Many went down injured or dead. But the General, who'd been cowering behind them, had suddenly shown himself. He was armed too, and was quick to shoot at both of them.

Micah yelped as she felt a searing pain in her shoulder but she kept firing back. Adrenaline was rushing through her body and she barely felt the pain.

"Run to the elevator at the other end!" Drake shouted, as he fought with the General. "There's a secret passageway from there."

"You traitor!" the General roared, clawing at his face.

Micah wanted to stay and help him, but when he yelled "Run!" again, she found her feet dashing toward the secret elevator and going down a narrow underground passageway. She kept going because she knew that she still had to destroy the laboratory and factory of the happy pills and other medications the New Government had been working on.

When she reached the end of the tunnel and pushed open the heavy metal door, she was greeted by bright sunlight. She refused to think about Drake's condition as she made her way toward the next building. There wasn’t anyone else around, as they were probably all on red alert inside the police tower.

She came upon the modern structure that housed the laboratory and factory. She snuck toward the back and found the lever that Drake had told her about. She pulled it down with all her might, to sound the warning alarm. In less than a minute, people were spilling from the building to the outdoor area of the compound. These were doctors, technicians, and other workers whom she did not want killed in what she was about to do.

When she was positive they were all outside, she pulled the bomb out from the bottom hidden part of her pants. She threw it into one of the open windows, screamed for everyone to run, and ran with them too.

The loud explosion made people run faster, and scatter off in all directions. She blended in with the crowd, but was determined to get back into the headquarters. Just as she was nearing it, though, she was tossed back by the impact of yet another explosion. The building was consumed in large flames of fire.

She stopped and stared in stunned belief. "No," she screamed, color draining from her face as she thought of Drake.

Behind her, Shelley was running, screaming, and crying. Micah caught her before she could enter the building. "Drake, no!" she cried. Micah held her tightly as another part of the building erupted into more flames.

"Maybe he'd gotten out already," Micah whispered. Her eyes scanned the grounds around her while Shelley continued to cry hysterically. Drake was nowhere in sight.

*****

Micah gazed up at the night stars while leaning against the side of the abandoned van where she had first made love with Drake and shared her dreams with him. A tear fell down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.

I have to remain strong.
I have yet to find where Stan is now. I will look for him tomorrow and he will help me with the completion of my mission.

She was one step away from victory, yet she felt so empty and miserable. Her thoughts kept on drifting back to Drake, even though she wanted to just forget about him. Besides, she had no proof whatsoever if he had been able to get out of the building or not, before it had exploded.
I must have faith.
She told herself repeatedly.

"Hey," she heard a low voice say from afar, making her look up. She squinted, trying to make out if there was someone in the shadows.

And there he was there. A well-built figure stepped out of the darkness. Half-illuminated by the moon, she could barely see his features. But she would recognize him anywhere. His brown eyes seemed to glow with joy at seeing her too. And before he could close the gap between them, she met him halfway and threw her arms around his neck.

"You're here," she kept saying.

"Yes, I'm okay," Drake confirmed, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her closer to his body. "I'm definitely okay."

"Thank God," she whispered. And then their lips were on each other once more, the hunger and passion and fear dragging them in. They kissed desperately, expressing how they truly missed and cared for one another. Their bodies seemed to merge as clothes slipped off piece by piece.

Drake opened the back of the van and grabbed the raggedy blanket from the cold metal floor of the van. They stumbled their way toward a clearing of grass under a tree and Drake pushed Micah gently down to the ground. He kissed her soft pouty lips. “I never doubted I wouldn’t see you again,” he said against her lips, and kissed her deeper. His hands slid over her body and caressed her skin gently. Drake felt goosebumps rising against his fingers. She moaned and writhed under his touch. “Drake.” She moaned breathlessly. “Pleaaaase. I need you.” Drake dragged his lips down her neck and sucked on her skin before continuing down to her chest. Both of her nipples puckered as he wrapped his hot, hungry mouth around one turgent nipple, and her back arced up from the blanket. Micah dug her fingers into Drake’s biceps and squeezed. He was devouring her slowly, and it was killing her. She was desperate for him. She squirmed her body and pulled Drake further over her body. He dug his erection against her hip and Micah moaned. She spread her legs open and his body slid between hers. He rubbed against her and she thrust against him. He was reaching his hand between their bodies but she stopped him. “Let me,” she whispered.

Their hearts were pounding against each other. Drake watched as Micah slid her hand between their bodies and wrapped her long fingers around his erection. His cock throbbed and pulsed at the sweet sensation of her fingers squeezing around him. He moaned. He raised his head and looked Micah straight in the eyes. “Put me inside you Micah.” She moaned and squeezed her hand tighter around him. He gasped. She rubbed him against her hot, wet center and spread her legs wider. She pushed the tip of him into her body and pulled her hand away. “No, put your hand back around me.” He moaned. “Just for a minute. I love feeling your hand where we are joined.” He kissed her deeply and she slid her hand down and wrapped it around his shaft. Drake slid one hand up and intertwined his fingers with Micah’s free hand, and slowly pushed into her body. They moaned in unison. “God.” He laughed. “No, not God. Drake.”

She leaned in and kissed him. Drake pushed himself fully into her body. Micah pulled her hand away and thrust back against him. Intense heat spread through her body and she gripped every inch of her body around Drake. Their movements were slow and sensual. They were finding a rhythm with their bodies and kissing deeper, hungrier. “Micah.” Drake moaned. “You feel so good wrapped around me sweetheart. I’m so close. I want you with me. Cum with me, Micah.” Micah moaned at his seductive tone. Her pleasure accelerated through her body.
He was begging her. So hot.
Every inch of her tingled. She was thrusting and clenching and squeezing Drake as he thrust hard and stopped moving. She felt him. Pulsing inside her. It was incredible. She could feel his heat. They kissed through their mutual orgasms. Their connection sealed with the intimate encounter.

In the midst of the forest, they lay on their backs and visualized the future world they had been dreaming of. Now there was hope, there was a light they had been waiting for in the dark tunnel. And now there was love sparking between them, connecting their souls somehow.

*****

"Ready?" Stan asked, adjusting the video camera he had set up which was now directed at Micah.

She nodded and smiled confidently at the camera. They were actually in an old basement which Stan had converted into a makeshift TV studio. Hiding from the authorities had not done him well, as he was now thinner than ever. His cheeks seemed hollow and his skin was dry and coarse. Micah felt sorry for him, but knew that it was going to be all over soon. They would finally be able to fulfill the mission and become free, just like the rest of the humans.

Behind Stan, Drake smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

She nodded at him and mouthed "thanks." Then she faced the camera, took a deep breath, and began her speech about the secret plans of the New Government. She talked about what the happy pills actually do to people and the long-term damaging effects they had on human beings. She showed all the supporting information she had uncovered from the General's computer files.

All across the globe, her video was being shown… and watched. She knew there would be a lot of people who wouldn't be ready to accept the truth. But there were bound to be supporters. This exposure would surely awaken some from the trance induced by the drugs from the government.

Micah then thought of her best friend, Elise. She looked forward to being seeing her again someday, just like old times. Then she thought of her family in heaven, who were probably looking down at her now with pride and happiness.

Her heart soared with relief and gladness as she ended her presentation.

"It's a wrap," Stan declared. "You did it, Micah. I'm so proud of you. You really did it."

"Thanks, Stan," Micah replied. She went over to join hands with Drake. "We both did it. And of course without you, we wouldn't be able to bring the news to the whole world. So you are part of this victory too."

Stan grinned. "Glad to be of service."

As he packed up all the stuff, Micah and Drake headed upstairs to the cozy, beautifully designed home that used to be owned by one of the members of the Last American Renegades.

"So…" Drake began. "How about celebrating with me- just the two of us, over dinner?"

A smile spread across Micah's lips as she turned to look at him. "You mean… like a date?"

He smiled and touched her chin with his finger. "Yes, a real date. We deserve it, don't you think?"

"I guess so," Micah agreed hesitantly. "But why are you asking me out?"

"Why not?"

"I thought…" Micah didn't know what to say. She had never had an actual romantic relationship with anyone before. Now that her mission was over, she still hadn't thought much about her plans for the future. Perhaps this was going to be a good start. "I just didn't think…"

"That I'm serious about you?" he teased. With his brown eyes sparkling, he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. "This is just the beginning of our adventure together, Micah. I'm so glad that among all the cyborgs, I was the one who was able to capture you."

You captured my heart
Micah said in silence. But aloud she said, "I'm glad too. So where are you taking me for dinner tonight? I hope they let rebels like me inside."

"Beautiful rebels like you are always welcome, especially when accompanied by a handsome cyborg." he said jokingly, enfolding her in an embrace.

She laughed. Deep inside, her heart was pounding like crazy. This was certainly nothing compared to all the life-and-death situations she had been in but it felt just as equally terrifying. She smiled. She would risk it. She was ready to explore, risk, and fall… in love.

THE END

Bonus Story 7 of 20

The news van pulled into the parking lot at the school carnival.  Brenae gave herself one last glance in the mirror before turning to her cameraman Terrence, who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“How do I look?” she said.

He took in the sight of her.  She was tall and slender, though her body was curvy in all the right places.  His skin was like chocolate, and much darker than his.  Her deep brown eyes were nearly black, her lips bee stung and surely tasting of honey.  She was staring at him, waiting for his reply.  Lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten her question.

“Girl, you look
damn
good.  As usual.”  He’d given up on getting a chance with her long ago.  She’d made it clear she didn’t fraternize with colleagues.

Brenae rolled her eyes.  Same answer every time.  It was flattering, but heaven help that man if he ever let her walk on camera with lipstick on her teeth.  She smiled at him and thanked him for the compliment.  Waste of time or not, she still enjoyed his attention.  As long as they both knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere she didn’t see the harm in it.  She fiddled with her clothes again, smoothing her hands over her slacks and blouse.

She’d dreamed of being a reporter her entire life, and while Terrence was a blast to work with, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.  Instead of sitting behind a desk as a news anchor, she was working her way up from the trenches like everyone else had.  All the schooling in the world couldn’t replace experience in her profession.  She didn’t like it, but if she wanted to go anywhere in her field, she had to start at the bottom. 

Brenae let out a huge sigh and smiled at Terrence.  He’d been the only volunteer when a wet-behind-the-ears reporter from Philly had been hired by Dallas’ biggest news syndicate a few months back.  She was ambitious and driven, which many found a bit obnoxious. 
Everyone
wanted a spot behind the desk as a lead anchor, and the others acted like there was nothing special about Brenae.  She would be behind that desk, of that she was certain.  She may be young, only 23, but when she had her sights set on something, she didn’t back down until she got what she was after. 

At least she had Terrence to work with while she clamored her way to the top.  He was funny and friendly, making a long work day go by quickly.  She was grateful that he was the cameraman she’d ended up with.  After one final glance in the mirror, she opened her door and got out.

“Let’s go, Terrence,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “This carnival isn’t going to cover itself.”

Brenae walked down the dirt path between the carnival attractions, her heels sinking slightly with each step.  The booths were set up close together, each one testing the skill of the high schoolers, their family, and friends as they worked to raise funds for their senior prom.  Not only was this not big news, it was really not news at all.  Brenae couldn’t imagine how this warranted any broadcast time, let alone a mini prime-time segment.  But one of the moms knew the producer and had asked him for a favor.  So Preston had sent Brenae, lowest on the totem pole, to cover the human interest story no one was interested in.

She walked straight for the main booth, where the carnival organizers would be waiting for her to interview them.  She introduced herself to the mother first, then the teens that were busy counting money while the carnival was still going.  Terrence started to set up his equipment when one of the boys stopped them.  His name badge identified him as Patrick, student body president.

“We’d like to do the interview over in front of the duck shoot booth,” he said.  His words were polite, but the disdain behind them was clear.  The young man was from a privileged neighborhood, and in certain neighborhoods, “privileged” meant that there were no minorities in the area.  He didn’t like her and he obviously wasn’t thrilled that she was the one covering his story. 

The young man looked at Brenae and licked his lips.  She felt her patience fading as the teen led them to the exact spot where he wanted to be interviewed.  She had to pay her dues like anyone else starting out, but this was pushing it.  This kid needed a dose of reality, not a news segment to stroke his already inflated ego.  Brenae suppressed the urge to tell him what for as she followed him to the booth. 

Patrick stopped and indicated where he wanted her to stand.  The ground was soggy and soft, and there was no way she was walking into mud in her pumps at the behest of a teenager.  She took a spot close to where he’d asked her to stand and waited for Terrence to signal he was ready.  Patrick gave her a look that said he didn’t approve, but then shrugged and moved into position.  Terrence gave the signal for five seconds out and Brenae turned towards Patrick.

The other students were gathered around to watch Patrick’s 15 seconds of fame as he stood near her.  He was off to the side and Brenae wondered briefly if he was afraid to get too close.  She groaned internally.  This assignment couldn’t be over soon enough.

Terrence gave the thumbs up that they were live and Brenae started her interview.

“I’m standing here with Student Body President, Patrick Bartlet-”

Without warning, someone in the crowd yelled fire, and Brenae was pelted with stream after stream of water from shot gun style water guns.  She sputtered and stepped back, trying to see through the steady stream of water to find an escape route.  She stepped into the deep mud and slipped, her feet flying out from under her.  She landed with a thud on her backside, the mud splattering out from beneath her and covering her from head to toe.  The onslaught continued, blinding her and keeping her from finding a hand-hold to pull herself out of the mud. 

Over the ruckus and laughter, a female voice shouted.  “That’s enough!  This carnival is
over
!”

It was the principal. 
Thank goodness someone stopped this.
Brenae looked down at her soaked blouse and slacks, completely covered in mud.  Terrence had been jostled backwards by the crowd of hooligans, but his camera was still rolling, focused on the teens, gathering evidence in case things got really out of hand.  Brenae prayed that the station had cut out their feed as soon as the water guns came out, though she doubted it. 

The principal walked up to Brenae and offered her hand.  Brenae grabbed the outstretched hand and pulled herself up.  Expecting an apology, or at least words of distress on her behalf, Brenae was surprised by the principal’s words.

“You’ve ruined everything.  Instead of a successful fundraiser, I’ll be trying to explain to parents why their children don’t have enough funds for the prom they wanted.”  With an exaggerated sigh, the principal walked away, leaving Brenae with a shocked expression on her face, staring into the camera.  The indicator light blinked steadily, and Terrence gave her the signal to wrap it up with her signature sign off. 
Oh shit, we were on the air that entire time. 

Brenae smiled at the camera, ignoring the urge to run away and hide.  “Victims of a secret, newscaster conspiracy bent on ruining their prom, or entitled brats who don’t deserve a prom?  You decide.  I’m Brenae Riley reminding you that kindness matters.  Back to you, Tom.”  With that, she turned and walked off camera, leaving Terrance to cut the feed on his end. 

Brenae walked to the van with an awkward shuffle, one of her heels broken, her clothes muddy and wet.  Her outfit was completely ruined, and likely her career after this fiasco.  She climbed into the van, not caring that she was dripping on the upholstery.  She wouldn’t be working at the station this time tomorrow anyway, so why not ruin the seats while she was at?  Terrence eventually returned to the van, his face set in angry lines.  He put the camera away and got into the driver’s seat. 

They rode in silence, Brenae dripping watery mud everywhere.  Terrence wanted to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be okay.  But the truth was, it was one of the worst human interest stories he’d ever filmed.  He cleared his throat, searching for the words that would make her happy again.

“Preston ordered me to keep filming.  I was going to cut it off and he yelled into the ear piece to keep rolling.”  He looked into her eyes, and she knew he was being honest.  “I’m sorry, Brenae.”

Preston was the station’s manager and producer.  He was arrogant and selfish; he only cared about his bottom line and what a story could do for his career.  She could see the ticker tape scrolling along the bottom of the now: “Reporter turned carnival attraction at local fund raiser.”  No doubt the incident would be on an endless loop until the next big story broke, and then her humiliation would continue on the web. 

She struggled to hold back the tears.  This was
not
what she had signed up for.  Preston had been sending her on the worst assignments since day one, promising her that she was “on her way.”  But Brenae was starting to see that he hadn’t been honest with her from the start.  She was wasting her time at the station; it was time for her to move on. 

Terrence drove slowly, no more eager to reach the station than Brenae was.  He looked angrier than Brenae had ever seen him.  She patted his hand reassuringly, smearing him with mud in the process.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Terrence,” she said.  “I’d like to go home now.  Preston can fire me tomorrow.  Is there any way you could drop me off at my house?”  Brenae could have her best friend Jenna take her to get her final check and her car tomorrow.  Right now, she needed a shower and her bed.  She gave him directions to her house and he nodded his understanding.

“Sure thing.”  He took the next exit, driving the few blocks to her house and letting her out in the driveway.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Brenae.”

She smiled and waved as she walked up the driveway, holding her purse away from her body to keep the sludge on her blouse from ruining her imitation leather bag.  She stripped in the foyer and tossed her clothes in the laundry sink.
Might as well be the trash
, she thought, despondently.  She felt like her career was over.

She took the stairs two at a time, wanting to wash this horrible day off as quickly as possible. 

Brenae turned on the shower and stepped into the spray.  The water rinsed the mud off her body slowly while she lathered up.  She smelled like a swamp so it would probably take several passes to get the smell completely gone.  Brenae lathered again and went to work on the filth seeping into her pores.  She wanted to get clean and get out as quickly as possible; she had a date with a memory foam mattress.  Tomorrow’s problems could wait.

*****

Brenae walked through the halls of the station, thin manila folder in her hand.  She’d been up since 4am, planning her next move.  Without a doubt, she was losing her job today, but after a lot of thought, she had decided to go out on her own terms.  Newbie or not, she clearly wasn’t valued by the station, or Preston.  She had a sneaking suspicion that she’d been hired solely to satisfy a workplace diversity requirement since she and Terrence were the only black people employed by the entire station.  She was done with this situation.  She was a good reporter and a valuable asset to any new syndicate that she was a part of.  If Preston couldn’t see that, it was his loss entirely.  She would miss Terrence, but the rest of this experience was something she wanted to put behind her as quickly as possible.  She had bigger things coming to her in this life, and she wasn’t willing to waste it here.

She picked up the pace down the hall to Preston’s sprawling office.  Better to get this done now than to drag it out.  She passed several people in the hall, all of them smiling at her.  Brenae resisted the urge to hang her head in shame.  Her worst day was caught on camera and broadcast for the world to see.  It wasn’t her fault, but it didn’t matter.  She’d fallen hard into the mud and her blouse was soaked through.  She was certain that her less than graceful landing was overshadowed by her see-through blouse clinging to her breasts.  Brenae laughed under her breath; so many
stellar
moments to choose from, she was sure that video would be circulating around the web for years to come. 

Preston’s door was open, and he was talking on the phone, his feet propped up on the window sill.  The view out his office window was stunning, the entire city visible from the high rise building.  Brenae had a cubicle.  It was not even a full cubicle that felt like an office, but a short one that came up to her shoulder.  The entire bull pen was like that; Preston said it added a team effort type feel to the place.  Brenae thought they looked like a family of prairie dogs peeking out of their holes, getting ready to make a run for it.  When he saw her, he motioned her in.  She sat in the comfortable chair, waiting for him to finish so she could be on her way.  He ended the call and turned to face her, the smile on his face broad and handsome.

“That report last night was,” he searched for the words, “something.  First, are you okay?  You fell pretty hard.”

Brenae took a deep breath.  She wasn’t going to drag this out and give Preston the satisfaction of firing her after rehashing the entire fiasco.  They both knew where this was headed, and Brenae wanted to get there first.

“I’m fine and I’ll recover from this.”  She handed him the folder, “Thank you for the opportunity you gave me here, but I think it’s best for all of us–”

“Wait.  Whoa there, just hold your horses.  You’re quitting?  Why?”