Vicious wind ripped through the hills, creating a huge, suffocating cloud of dust and plant parts. The young flowers that grew at Johnson Nursery Garden stooped helplessly in the bluster.

Amelia Johnson knelt beside the canopy tent that stood behind the dirt parking lot of the nursery. The tent shielded a rec. room, cash register, and a tiny refrigerator with bottled water for sale. Amelia plunged her hands, covered in thick, protective gloves, into the thicket of weeds that grew in excess at the foot of one of the tent poles and grabbed as many of the overgrown pests as she could. The weeds’ roots made a deep, earthy sound as they were wrenched from the soil. The loosened dirt blew horizontally away in the harsh wind.

Shoving the uprooted weeds into the black trash bag draped over her elbow, Amelia stood and dropped the bag to the ground, kicking a sturdy rock onto it so that it wouldn't fly away. She sighed and pulled the gloves from her weary fingers before dumping them as well.

After a moment’s consideration, she cracked her back carefully so as not to disturb the metal rods holding her spine straight. Then, she looked out over the expanse of the nursery, observing the yellow threads of the pesky weeds growing inside of every available space between the rows of potted plants she sold. She mumbled a few curses at the wind for spreading the weed spores.

Then the more pleasant sight of her two children met her eyes when she looked further up the shallow hill the nursery sprawled on. She first saw her son's skinny back, bent over a patch of weeds near the Fuji Apple trees and desert marigolds. Mars' ponytail of brown hair was frizzy in the wind, and sunburn was beginning to redden the back of his neck. Then Amelia’s eyes wandered to the left and she saw her younger daughter sitting on the ratty couch inside of the gazebo at the crest of the hill. Abby was slacking off, disinterestedly counting the petals on the weeds she had caught, a curl of dirty-blond hair swept to the middle of her forehead.

Realizing that they were more than likely not going to make any more headway on the weeds due to the wind, Amelia took a breath in order to call them in for a break. A sudden, distant rumble forced the words back down her throat. She spun around, looking down the slope of the hill, to the thin strip of the two-lane highway at the base of it. It lay empty except for two black shapes approaching rapidly from the east.

Motorcycles.

A chill ran down Amelia's spine. She turned back to the garden and saw her son trotting down to her. He peeled off his own pair of gloves as he ran and came to a skidding halt in front of her, asking "What's that sound? Are those Ants? Are they coming here?" between painful, wheezing breaths. Pale brown tracks of dirt and sweat rolled down his face. Amelia could only stare at her son for a moment, at his lanky body and sharp shoulders, as the severity of the situation shot through her.

Pulling herself together, she gently touched his shoulder and nudged him in the direction of the rec. room. "Go warn Karina, Mars," she ordered, "Lock her in there. Then go get your sister and bring her here. I'm pretty sure those are Ants, and there's no guarantee that they're coming here, but we can’t afford to look suspicious."

Mars tensed up, pulling away from her touch. In an apprehensive tone, he said, "The three of us waiting up for them and twiddling our thumbs will look suspicious."

"Go get your sister," Amelia repeated, less gently than before. She narrowed her eyes and set her mouth into a firm line. "Being relaxed in their presence will not only come off as equally suspicious, it will irritate them. And we don't know for sure that they're coming here."

"Where else could they be going?" he shouted in response, his frustration evident as he gestured out at the empty hills surrounding the nursery on all sides. The Ants had already passed the other nurseries and antique shops along the eastern stretch of the highway. Johnson Nursery Garden was the last business along the road for miles, until the highway melted into an intersection at the edge of the closest town.

Mars continued before she could say anything, "I know what you’re expecting me to do. To hide behind you while you take the abuse of those—," he barely stopped himself from saying something coarse, "—Numbers. But I don’t think I can do it. You can’t expect me to keep my mouth shut after what they've done to us. After what they did to Dad." Memories of the last day he’d seen his father flashed in his eyes, making Amelia shut her own for a moment.

"Yes, that’s what I expect you to do,” she began, reopening her eyes. The look there was so intense that Mars backed up a step.

"No. That is what you will do. And you know why?" she continued, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close, until their faces were only an inch apart. "Because I'd rather die than let either of you be taken by them. I’d rather commit murder and become a Worker Bee myself then see you become one— you’re old enough, an adult, Mars, that’s what would happen to you— or see Abby become a Cadet. And I damn well hope you feel the same. So instead of acting like a stubborn mule and wasting precious time, you’d better do what I tell you to! Understood?"

Mars looked to the ground, unable to meet his mother's stare. The thought of becoming property of the ELITE made him shudder. The thought of his mother being reduced to a mind slave or his sister becoming one of the Numbers was even worse.

He nodded weakly and separated himself from Amelia, trotting up the hill and into the rec. room without looking back.

Amelia watched him go, the sudden urge to hug her son almost suffocating her. The feeling was dampened when the rumbling of the Ants' engines rose sharply in pitch as they glided past the natural sound barrier of the taller hills. The motorcycles and their hated occupants, two of the Numbers, the third-highest echelon of the ELITE, were getting close enough to make out the red speck of their insignia on their engine tanks.

Abby came running down the hill just as Mars came back out of the rec. room, rattling the doorknob to make sure it stayed shut. They walked to Amelia together.

“What’s the plan of action, Mom?” Abby asked, trying to sound confident despite the panic in her eyes.

“If the Ants are coming here, you two will stand behind me and stay silent. Let me handle them,” she ordered, giving Mars a pointed look. He crossed his arms and didn’t meet her eyes. Abby nodded nervously.

Amelia heaved a sigh, suddenly feeling as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept in a month. She turned to look down the hill, to where her enemies approached, feeling her children’s presence at her back.

With anticipation, she noticed that the Ants weren't slowing down. The two of them were nearly to the driveway now, but their black, insectile frames showed no signs of stopping. Maybe they weren't coming to the nursery, Amelia thought. The highway leads back into town eventually, so maybe—

She heard Mars curse under his breath.

The leading driver had given a sudden jerk to the handlebars, taking a nearly ninety degree turn into the long, cement driveway. The Ant’s tires squealed, leaving a long, curved black streak of burnt rubber in its wake. Another sharp turn into the dirt parking lot kicked up even more dust into the already dirt-congested air. Pebbles flew up from underneath the machine, hitting Amelia's legs, giving her a feeling akin to bug bites. The driver hit the brakes and the motorcycle stopped abruptly, the engine grumbling as it idled. The driver, male, looked up at her from behind the black visor in the middle of the matching black helmet. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, his gaze crawled over her skin, making her want to shudder. She fought the impulse.

The second Ant turned into the driveway then, slower than the other, so it didn't leave tracks, but still dangerously fast. Its driver, also male, pulled up next to the first and stopped. He nodded to his partner, a signal to cut the engines. The nursery became silent. Even the wind died down.

The two sat for a while, waiting for the dust cloud they had created to subside. Once the air cleared, the second driver slid off his bike, removed his dark helmet, and looked up at Amelia. He was young, around Mars’ age, maybe twenty years old. But he possessed none of her son's brashness or obstinacy, only cool confidence. She had seen several of his type over the past few years, under less than friendly conditions, and the sight of them never failed to make her nervous.

For more reasons than she cared to admit.

They were instruments of the organization called the ELITE. They, meaning the younger members, like the two before her, were Numbers, higher up the food chain than Cadets but still running around under the orders of the Top Five, who in turn were governed by the nearly mythical figure known as Zero.

Breaking into people's homes, destroying private property, ripping apart families… Numbers did those things, all in search of what the higher ups deemed "evidence of intent to cause harm to other people, groups, countries, and/or the ELITE".

It was efficient, she’d admit, this organization that had leeched onto the old democracy and sucked its power dry… But its methods and practices were less than exemplary.

The young Number continued to stare at her and her family, not addressing them, only taking in their appearance as if he might memorize every detail about them, from the way Amelia habitually pushed a strand of graying hair behind her ear, to the glare Mars was directing at him, to the shaking hand Abby curled around her brother’s fingers…It couldn't have been an impressive sight for him. It was hard to tell what he was thinking through his poker face.

The other Number excitedly jumped off his Ant now, wrenching the helmet off his head immediately, and threw it over the handle, not bothering to pick it up when it ricocheted off the bike and fell to the ground. He turned and in a few swift steps he was standing next to his partner. The two of them were dressed in the same thing that all Numbers wore: a completely black uniform jacket, no adornments but for the red insignia and rank number on the right shoulder, close-fitting trousers, matching sleek boots that were miraculously clean despite the trip they had made…

Amelia blinked in surprise when she realized that their uniforms did not completely match. The blank-faced Number had the letters “IV” sewn in golden thread beneath the emblem on his shoulder, whereas the other Number had a matte gray “XXIII”. Her feeling of dread intensified as she grasped what that meant.

Gold Roman Numerals signified a Top Five, a big boss. The higher ups were assured they would find something here, or else they would not have sent one of their own.

Someone ratted them out.

She forced that line of thought out of her mind, hoping the Numbers hadn’t seen it in her face.

Her reverie was broken when the Top Five finally addressed her.

"Don’t be alarmed by our presence, Ms. Johnson," he said, his expression, or lack of an expression, not changing as he spoke. His body didn't move, nor did he blink. She looked unwittingly into those dark eyes then, and the frightening lack of emotion in them forced her gaze away, to the high forehead, the scar covering his left temple, the sharp cheekbones, the straight-lined lips; anything other than the eyes that made her feel, even in that brief moment of contact, as if she were staring down a snake.

“And family,” the lower caste Number added in a friendly tone, a smile curving his lips and he looked to Amelia’s children. Abby moved a little closer to her brother.

“Rest assured that our reason for being here is purely routine,” the Top Five continued, taking a few purposeful strides up the hill toward Amelia. His partner followed silently, still smiling, but his pale eyes were darting in every direction, taking in details. He was looking for something.

The Top Five stopped directly before Amelia, still not looking away from her face, more than likely looking for hints of deceit in the twitches of her expression. Inhaling deeply, she took a chance and said, “I was under the impression that Top Five Numbers only deployed themselves on missions far more interesting than routine ones.”

His partner snorted loudly in response. Giving the Top Five a friendly pat on the shoulder, he said, “Watch out, Foursie, I think she’s on to you.”

Number Four.

Now that his rank had been said out loud, she suddenly recognized the expressionless man. His youth had been bothering her, since it seemed to her that most Top Fives were closer to her own age rather than her son’s, but since this young man was Number Four, everything made perfect sense.

David used to obsess over it whenever a new Top Five was elected. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it always meant subtle new changes in policy, depending on the new Top Five’s personality and influence among the others. David had practically made a career out of guessing what the new Top Five would do and the results were almost always correct. This near-clairvoyance of his was what had attracted the ELITE to him in the first place.

But when they had finally labeled him a threat and hauled him away, Amelia couldn’t stand to read anything about the policy changes within the organization anymore. Not only did it remind her of the wonderful intelligent conversations she used to have with her husband after the kids where tucked in at night, it also brought a deep-seeded hatred to the surface that Mars had glimpsed once or twice as a child. She didn’t want Abby to see it, too.

So she rarely, if ever, kept up with such things anymore. The only reason she even knew about the new Number Four in front of her was because of the controversy surrounding his election.

“Number Twenty-Three,” the Top Five’s cold voice cut through her even though he wasn’t addressing her. He tilted his head in the direction of his partner, who returned the look with a mock innocence sparkling in his eyes. A silent message passed between them and Number Four shook his head minutely, heaving an almost delicate sigh, before saying, “Go do your job.”

Twenty-Three gave his superior the ELITE salute and stomped off in the direction of the nursery plants, where Amelia’s son had been working just minutes ago.

“Out of curiosity,” Amelia began, regaining the attention of Number Four, “What exactly is it that Twenty-Three will be doing?”

“Number Twenty-Three—,” he corrected, “—will be doing nothing more than a standard search of your property, Ms. Johnson.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You seem surprised.” She couldn’t help flinching a bit. “Surely you didn’t expect us to ignore your family after David’s discrepancies?”

Amelia heard Mars take a long inhalation in an effort to keep calm. She gritted her own teeth, willing herself to keep up a good example of composure for him. It wasn’t easy, considering this— this child of the ELITE had used her husband’s name so flippantly— in such a blatantly casual manner than it was more than apparent he had said it just to test them.

She swallowed her anger and answered, “Of… of course I didn’t. It’s just been— a while since then.”

“Ah, but that shows how much we trust you, Ms. Johnson,” he intoned, a sudden dark glee flickering in pits of his black eyes, melting the emotionless ice. “If we didn’t trust you, we would have sent someone to come here— say, every few days, to check up on you… And there’s been no reason for us to have done that… is there?”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she fought the urge to insult him. “No. Of course not,” she forced out between stiff lips.

“Outstanding,” he quipped. He turned his head away for a moment, looking for Twenty-Three, she assumed, and she took the opportunity to evaluate him further.

Number Four and Twenty-Three not only had polar opposite personalities, but the two also looked vastly different. The most obvious thing was that Four was Asian and Twenty-Three was white. Four had thick, black hair slicked back against his head and his partner had short, bright red hair teased into small, neat spikes. Four’s eyes were dark and, up until now, empty, and Twenty-Three’s eyes were an ice blue that revealed a surprisingly lively personality that any normal, non-ELITE-affiliated young man his age could have possessed.

But the one thing they had in common was also the least surprising. Underneath their uniforms lay muscle that they had been trained all their lives to earn. That was something expected from products of the ELITE, the result of a long, unforgiving tutelage from a militaristic guardian.

A long whining noise interrupted the eerie stillness the air had unexpectedly taken on. Number Four’s eyes narrowed, still looking in the direction his partner had gone.

“You have a dog.”

Rigidly, Amelia turned to see what he meant. Panic welled up inside her when she saw that Twenty-Three was making his way back down the hill, pulling Aster, a German Shepherd, by her collar.

“Look what I found chained to a post hidden back in the trees,” Twenty-Three said, coming to a stop a few feet away from all of them. “It tried to bite me, but I think I’ve gotten it to understand the food chain a little better. Right, doggie?” He jingled the collar a few times, making the dog whimper again.

“Nowhere in your paperwork did it state that your family owned a dog,” said Number Four, his voice retreating back into monotony. Amelia looked at him quickly and saw his eyes were trained on her with distaste.

“Yes, we…,” she began.

“We found her,” Mars finished. He stepped forward, a little in front of his mother. She put out a hand to hold him back, but he side-stepped that, as well.

Number Four’s sharp gaze fixed on him now. “And how long ago was that?”

“A couple of days. Maybe a week,” he said smoothly.

“Is that so?”

When Mars nodded in answer, Number Four gestured at the dog. “May I?”

Twenty-Three dragged the unwilling dog closer, ignoring her distressed yelps as the collar choked her. Number Four knelt, pausing to frown for a moment, and then grabbed her collar. “It doesn’t have any tags,” he observed.

No one said anything for a long moment. Number Four hummed thoughtfully, standing back up. Twenty-Three quickly grabbed the dog’s collar again, preventing her from bolting.

Focusing on Amelia again, Number Four said, “I’m disappointed, Ms. Johnson. You should be more than familiar with the laws that the ELITE has set forth regarding pet control. It’s expected.”

“Yes…I know.” Amelia feigned embarrassment. “I should have called someone out here to take Aster to the Pound immediately after finding her.” Amelia could barely hold back her revulsion of the place. The Pound was a slaughterhouse for the weaker stray pets and turned the stronger ones into the animal equivalent of Worker Bees. “But we’ve been very busy this past week keeping up with the weed growth and it just slipped my mind. You have to understand.”

Mysteriously, a tiny smile appeared on Number Four’s lips. “Yes, Ms. Johnson. That I do understand.”

Amelia instinctively relaxed.

“However,” he continued, the smile turning malicious. “There is also something about what you have just said that I do not understand.”

“Oh?” she inquired hesitantly. Mars was tense beside her.

“It just seems a bit odd to me,” he started again, his tone dangerous. He took a tiny, purposeful step closer to her after each sentence. “That you have found this dog— out here in the middle of nowhere— wearing a collar, but no tags. Meaning, you have no way to identify its owner. Meaning, you don’t know where it came from. Meaning, Ms. Johnson—” He now stood a scant few inches away from her. “—that it is utterly baffling to me that you know this dog’s name is Aster.”

Amelia breathed in sharply, realizing her mistake.

“We gave her that name,” Mars explained, putting a hand on Number Four’s bicep, trying to push him away from his mother.

In a flash, Number Four grabbed his wrist and twisted it, making Mars yelp in pain. Number Four then stepped back from Amelia and pulled Mars close to himself, saying, “You seem to be under the impression that I can’t tell that you’re lying, Martin.” When Mars looked suitably shocked, he threw him to the ground. “So I suggest you either start telling the truth or keep your mouth shut.”

“Mars—,” Abby ran to her brother’s side, touching his arm. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Mars growled, swatting Abby’s hand away.

“Watch the children, would you?” Number Four asked his partner.

“I hate babysitting.” Number Twenty-Three sighed and rolled his eyes, but was already making his way over to the siblings, dragging Aster behind him. When he stood over them, he reached toward his hip and pulled the saber from the hilt kept there. He pressed the blade to Mars’ throat.

“Now, I’m not sure how smart you are, but in case it isn’t obvious, you shouldn’t move. So lie back and relax, kid,” he explained, still in a sociable voice. He turned to Abby next. “Be a doll and hold onto the dog for me?” Wide-eyed, she accepted Aster’s collar and pulled her close. “Okay, then. Secured!” he shouted back over his shoulder, making some sort of signal with his other hand.

Number Four barely paid him any mind. He stared at Amelia for a long moment, letting her know that he wasn’t going to buy anything less than the truth.

“Who does the dog belong to, Amelia?”

She didn’t speak.

“You refuse to answer?” Number Four asked next. More silence. His eyes slid shut and he sighed.

Number Four hit her so suddenly that at first she didn’t understand why her face was thrown to the side.

“Mom!” Mars screamed as he tried to sit up, a thread of blood trickling from his neck as the tip of Twenty-Three’s blade punctured the skin. Abby pushed on his chest to get him to lie back down, panic in her eyes as she looked from her mother up to Twenty Three next to her. Twenty Three only smiled.

Next, Amelia took a hit to the stomach, doubling her over. Number Four gripped her hair in one hand, using it to force her down onto her knees. She scrabbled to get a hold of his leg, trying to knock him over, but he caught first one hand under his boot, stomping until he heard something crack, and then worked on the other.

Satisfied with her pained cries, Number Four knelt and jerked her head up, making her look him in the eye. “I want to make it perfectly clear to you, Ms. Johnson, that you are doing this to yourself. You are forcing me to harm you. You are the reason you may very well come out of this a cripple. You are making your children watch you disobey your betters with your face in the dirt,” he hissed, hitting every nerve necessary for compliance. His face relaxed suddenly, trying to look kind. “You need only answer my questions quickly and truthfully and all your pain will go away.”

Amelia let out a strangled laugh. “All my pain will go away? Of course my pain will go away. Worker Bees don’t feel anything.”

All semblance of gentleness vanished. “Are you admitting to a crime in which the punishment would be mental rehabilitation?”

Amelia spit at his feet, her aim off, the pain making her hazy. “Get over yourself. I know you’re here because you think I’m hiding an illegal. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise. I’ve had enough of your goddamn mind games; just say it to me straight why you’re here.”

“An illegal?” Number Four scoffed. “You must think I’m stupid. An illegal would have been shot dead upon crossing the border. No, who you are harboring is a greater threat than some foreign scum off the street.”

Her eyes started to glaze over, so he gave her hair another smart tug. “This threat was once foreign, but has since gained full citizenship of our nation, much to the chagrin of my esteemed

Superiors, as the threat has since ungratefully wreaked havoc upon the establishment they have worked tirelessly to make great for the past half century.”

Amelia snorted disdainfully at his notion that America was anything great anymore.

Number Four gritted his teeth, only a low hiss betraying how close he was to the edge of his patience.

“A terrorist.” A precision strike. “That is what she is. That is what you harbor on your property, through no good will of your own, I am sure.” Suddenly, the emptiness leeched back into his eyes, a frigid smile punctuating his face. “She was a close friend of your husband’s, this Karina Kastler.

“As I understand it, perhaps too close,” he jabbed. Amelia growled quietly. He continued, “But a friend, nonetheless, and as such, you felt obligated to help her, this dear acquaintance of David’s, when she came to you, begging for shelter after her most recent terror campaign went awry.

“A stupid move, but probably the only one she thought available to her in her short-sighted panic. So, Amelia,” he let her hair loose and roughly cupped her chin. “My dear traitor. Tell me where you are keeping—”

“Surely, you mean me, mein Herr?” said a deep female voice from the rec. room door before a shot rang out. The bullet missed Four by a foot, but he leaped away from it instinctually, letting Amelia roll away in the opposite direction before he could correct his mistake.

“Oops, I missed.” Karina Kastler stepped forward and aimed at Twenty-Three. “Perhaps I’ll have better luck with this big red target.”

Number Four shot to his feet swiftly, but his partner spoke first, pressing the saber hard against Mars’ Adam’s apple. “Drop it or I’ll slit this kid’s throat!” he ordered.

To both the Numbers’ surprise, she complied immediately, bending over and casually setting her gun on the ground, before straightening back up and lacing her fingers on top of her short blond hair. She smirked with red lips, green eyes twinkling. “Don’t give me that look, boys. This gal has been around the block a few times. I know the routine.” She quirked an eyebrow darker than her hair. “Unless, of course, you’re surprised I’m giving in so easily? That’s an easy one. I love being a pain in the ass.”

The Numbers exchanged a look, not sure what to make of that. Kastler giggled. “I figure it would really chap your hides if, after all the trouble I’ve caused you, what with bombing one or two ELITE-run news casting buildings, setting a few Cadet training camps on fire, and letting loose a few hundred pets staring down their extermination dates from the local Pound, I would just up and give myself to you, no struggle. It really doesn’t make for a good headline, does it? ‘Infamous Female Terrorist Turns Herself In Peacefully’. Doesn’t make it seem like you guys are doing your jobs right. I like that.”

“You speak entirely too much,” Number Four said in a bored tone, patting down his jacket. He started up the hill toward her, walking past Amelia, who was huddled over her broken hands. Surreptitiously, she grabbed for her jacket pocket, biting back the pain.

“Your charming little speech doesn’t have any effect on us, and it’s not going to get either you or your keepers off lightly.” Number Four stopped and reached for Kastler’s dropped gun, not taking his eyes off her.

Warm as honey, she purred, “And just what makes you think I care about my ‘keepers’?” She lifted one hand from her head, displaying her palm. A red button rested in the middle of a strap of wires wrapped around her hand.

Number Four breathed in sharply. “You little bitch.”

“Charming,” she cooed, thumbing the trigger as she lowered her arms.

“Karina!” Amelia shouted from her position on the ground. Her shaking hands were all that prevented her from shooting Number Four with the gun she now held pressed to the dirt. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What the fuck!” Twenty-Three sounded half-annoyed, half-amused. “Has everybody got a concealed weapon here? What, is the little girl going to pull a shiv out of her panties next?”

“What am I doing?” Kastler answered, ignoring him in favor of answering Amelia. “I am doing what I have always done, looking out for myself. Sorry if that upsets you.” She rolled her eyes back to Number Four. “I think you already know what the terms are. Either you let me go, or I bomb the place. I don’t mind dying if it’s in a fire of my own creation. That’d be rather poetic, don’t you think—.”

A shot skittered off to her right, bringing her up short. “You fuck- fucking traitorous- bitch!”

“Can’t you people thinking of other things to call me? Honestly.” Number Four remained silent.

Kastler tilted her head inquisitively. “Shouldn’t you be begging for mercy by now?”

With an icy smile, he said, “Not quite. Press the trigger.”

She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded toward her hand. “Go on. Press it. Let’s see what happens.”

With considerable less assurance, Kastler pressed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“Son of a—.”

She crumpled under a blow to the back of her head. Another Number stood behind her. She, the Number, looked at Four with contempt. “Five seconds. Can you believe it? It took me five seconds to disarm that bomb. If you can even call that piece of garbage a bomb.”

Number Four’s lip curled, but before he could say anything, Twenty-Three shouted, “Forty-Seven, my girl! Baby, what took you so long?”

Forty-Seven rolled her eyes.

Number Four turned around. “I’d say it was time for the round-up, hm?”

“Finally! My back’s getting sore with all this standing still crap.” Twenty-Three lifted his saber from Mars’ neck at last. Instantly, Mars launched himself up, grabbing for Twenty-Three’s throat.

He was stopped by someone looping their arms through his from behind, crushing his back against their chest. For a wild moment, he thought he was hallucinating, because at first he couldn’t see anything holding him, then two muscular, gray-clad arms shivered into existence around him.

Abigail screamed as about a dozen more figures shimmered to life all around the area, one gripping her arms and forcing her to her feet. Another clutched Aster’s collar.

Twenty-Three smirked at the sibling’s flabbergasted faces. “Kiddies, meet our assisting troupe of Cadets, smartly dressed in the latest, most highly advanced camouflage suits the ELITE has to offer. It was almost like they weren’t even there, am I right?”

“For Christ’s sake, would you shut the hell up? You sound like a goddamn catalogue,” Forty-Seven harped.

“You know you love me when I advertise.”

Number Four paid no mind to them, instead asking the nearest Cadet if the Dog Catchers had been called. The answer was affirmative, and not three minutes later, there were two holding-cell vans making their way up the driveway.

Number Four stood by the back door of the van meant for the human prisoners, making sure that they all made it into the back and were properly disarmed and locked in. Karina Kastler, still unconscious, was placed on and hand-cuffed to the bench directly underneath the meshed window connecting the cell to the drivers up front. Amelia Johnson and her daughter Abigail Johnson sat together on the right-hand bench, seating as far from each other as the bench would permit. Martin Johnson took a while longer to board, as he struggled to escape the grip of the two Cadets pushing him into the truck.

“I will kill you,” he hissed at Number Four, who stood by impassively.

“Unlikely, sorry to say,” was all he answered with.

The Cadets gave a final heave and Martin was inside. Number Four watched as he was cuffed to his own bench opposite his family, and the doors were shut.

The van’s engine revved after Number Four gave the drivers permission to leave. In the moment before the van left the driveway forever, he caught sight of one hateful brown eye glaring at him through the meshed back window. The eye stayed on him until the van turned the corner.

About a half-hour later, Numbers Four and Forty-Seven stood by the Ants, now parked on the highway rather than the parking lot of Johnson Nursery Garden.

Forty-Seven cracked her back. “Man, camping out all night in the back hills was a real bitch.”

“But worth it,” Number Four reminded her.

She nodded, smirking, obviously remembering and savoring the hit she had delivered to Kastler. “Finally, that blonde bimbo is out of the picture.”

“Okay, guys, I’m all set!” Twenty-Three shouted excitedly as he came running down the hill toward them. He held a remote control trigger in his hand. “Time for the finale.”

“Damn, I kind of wish Kastler was here so she could see what a real bomb looks like,” Forty-Seven grumbled.

“Hush-sh-sh,” Twenty-Three commanded. Forty-Seven fell silent, covering her ears. Twenty-Three’s exhilaration permeated the air as he said, “And a-one, and a-two, and a—.”

He pressed the button.

Johnson Nursery Garden went up in a cataclysm of noise, heat, and light.

Twenty-Three and Forty-Seven laughed and cheered, and after they removed their hands from their ears, gave each other high fives.

Number Four was not so filled with glee. Silently, he travelled a few paces up the highway, observing the fire from a new angle. The sharp smell of gasoline and the rustic scent of burning bark filled his nostrils, the heat from the flames washing over his face, making him sweat.

He saw brown eyes glinting with hatred, set in a face that weren’t much younger than his own.

He growled to himself, suddenly frustrated. Why was he getting so preoccupied over one commoner that he barely knew and didn’t care to keep knowing? A commoner that would be nothing more than a drone by week’s end?

Why indeed…

Unexpectedly, his eye was caught by a tiny dot falling from the sky. He reached out for it, expecting a hunk of burning ash, but instead found his fingers caged around a small purple flower with deep red veins. It wasn’t even singed. How curious.

He crushed the fragile thing in his grip, giving no more thought to the improbable survival of such a small life form.

He looked back up, not at the wall of fire before him, but at the slowly darkening sky above it.