Page 53 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)

Cole

The house I’m offered to stay in is home to four other guys. Two of them, Colby and Bran, work in food service as part of the manpower behind the community cafeteria. Axel works as a mechanic and engineer for the town. And Stitch, of course, works with me over in the Infirmary.

Which is where we need to be at sunrise every day.

My eyes fly open at the sound of multiple blaring alarms simultaneously going off in various positions around the house. It’s been three days of this, and after months of zero wake-up calls, it’s definitely not something I’m used to yet.

With a grumbling, frustrated effort, I pull myself from bed, rubbing at my tired eyes and stretching the enduring stress from my muscles. Between Stitch and myself, each and every alarm is found and silenced before we dress and trudge out the door in the direction of the main community buildings.

Colby and Bran weren’t a part of the early morning frenzy, but I spot them as we enter the cafeteria.

With resources already limited, residents of Phoenix Rising aren’t allowed to cook or prepare meals in their respective homes.

Instead, Colby and Bran, along with several others, spend all morning preparing a huge community buffet.

Biscuits, muffins, loaves of bread, scrambled eggs, and mountains of fruit cover a long table along with other items. It’s more freshly prepared food than I’ve seen in one place in over a year, and that includes Jax’s estate.

He would bake all day every day if he could, but nothing compares to the abundance before me.

And none of it goes to waste. The population residing in this town is surprisingly significant, to say the least, but, most importantly, very concerning.

I think back to when we first passed through here almost a week ago.

We saw people, at least a couple dozen, during our small trek through Main Street but nothing to require this magnitude of preparation on a regular basis.

Now that I see what I’m up against, it’s like I’m living in a life-sized Where’s Waldo puzzle.

It’s been three days, and after steadily working in the Infirmary and wandering about town in the areas I’m allowed, eavesdropping into every conversation I’m able, I still have no idea where Aly and Jax are.

Thankfully, I’ve already found Hawk. Completely accidentally, but I at least know where he is and where he’s set to stay for the time being.

Although he was almost beaten half to death, I’m happy to report he’s getting better, physically at least. But he's not doing well... mentally. Being stuck in that room, cooped up for so long and unable to do anything, is making him restless and agitated. And, from what I can see, he’s slowly losing his grip.

It hurts me to see him suffering as he is, but, regardless, he’s still, physically, in no condition to hunt for Jax or Aly.

Plus, he lacks the proper clearance to walk around as freely as I do.

People would immediately recognize he’s out of place and sound the alarm, which leaves me on my own to find Jax and Aly in the middle of all this.

Based on the accelerated rate of Hawk’s mental deterioration, I’m hoping I can make that happen sooner rather than later.

My thoughts race with what Jax and Aly might be going through. After witnessing what they did to Hawk, all of them are negative. I force myself to take a deep breath and recenter myself.

One step at a time.

One room at a time.

The first being the community cafeteria each morning.

Due to the No Meals at Home rule, every resident in Phoenix Rising is required to come here each morning, afternoon, and evening to get whatever nourishment they need.

That means that even if Jax and Aly don’t show up here themselves, there’s a good chance at least one person in this room knows where they are.

I join the back of the buffet line with Stitch and grab a plate, placing a piece of fruit and a muffin on it while slowly scanning the room around me.

Men.

All men.

My initial question returns with stunning vibrancy. Where are all the women?

After three days here, you’d think I would have seen more than just the one by now, but the woman who died in that barn has been the only female I’ve managed to find.

It can’t be a coincidence that they’re all miraculously unaccounted for.

Are they keeping them sequestered in their homes?

The town is old-fashioned enough to pull something like that: hiding away their treasures from the prying eyes of thieves and trespassers.

Even still, it feels like something... more.

I can’t put my finger on it.

With our plates filled, Stitch leads me to a table, and we take our seats.

He talks to the person on the other side of him about something or other, but none of the conversations around me indicate anything about any newcomers apart from myself.

After a few minutes, I finish my meal. And, as the sun peeks its head over the horizon, I head for the exit with Stitch right behind me.

Out of time, once again, but I’m no less determined.

As we head down the road, my mind reels with possible solutions. I always liked puzzles as a child, and this is simply another that I need to solve. I just need to find the code. The link. The hidden clues that can point me in the right direction.

We step into the Infirmary and up to the desk where Locke is already starting his morning. He pauses writing his notes in a file to look up at us. “Morning, guys.”

We return the greeting, and Stitch gestures to the small stack of files to the right of the one he’s currently working on. “Full day today?”

Locke shakes his head with a small frown. “Not too bad, just a few test results we need to finalize, there’s the three guys down the hall in quarantine who came in yesterday with fevers, a man with a...”

He continues on with our morning ramble, but my focus diverts to the large filing cabinets at his back.

Everything around me silences as clarity takes hold.

They keep a file on every resident staying within the Phoenix Rising community.

A failsafe to make sure those residing here are immune, healthy, and valuable in some way, shape, or form.

I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.

I’ve been working on Hawk’s file every day since I came here, and it never even occurred to me that they’d have one on Jax or Aly.

Holy shit, this is the answer. The codex. The key to the metaphorical lock keeping us all here. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that’s where I’ll find my answers—it’s where I’ll find them —but I can’t do it while these guys are right under my nose.

“That ok with you?” Stitch asks, jarring me back to reality. I blink my mind back into focus as I realize he’s talking to me, but I have no idea what he had asked.

I cough into my fist and redirect the question back at him, “Ahem. Sorry. Still out of it this morning. What was that?”

Stitch smiles, unconcerned, and repeats his question. “Want to check on your patient and then hit room seven? I’m sure you know how to drain a cyst, right?”

“Um, yeah. That sounds fine.”

With a nod, I take the two charts from his outstretched hand and head down the corridor, pausing in front of Hawk’s door.

While I’m eager to visit him, a tremble runs through my body at what he went through. At what I saw in the aftermath. Trauma is obviously difficult on the person who suffered it, but it also leaves a lasting impact on the loved ones surrounding them.

When I found him, I was beyond relieved he was alive.

He was relieved as well, but his mannerisms, in those first moments before he recognized me, were filled with absolute misery and horror.

He barely saw me through the tiny slits left open behind his contusions and swelling.

Yet, when he recognized me, even beyond my disguise, he still smiled.

Found the will to be himself even after. .. everything he’s endured.

He was obviously seen by others here before I showed up.

Prior to entering the room and offering my own version of care, I read their notes on what had happened to him and what care they’d offered, as well as the annotations of his.

.. trauma gained upon extraction: two black and swollen eyes, a busted lip, a concussion, multiple fractured ribs, and kidney damage.

All miraculously acquired upon transport.

The veiled truth of the matter, however, is blatantly clear: he was tortured in that dungeon.

There were also tests they ran from samples collected while he was unconscious before he was even brought to the Infirmary.

Informed consent is a cornerstone of ethical medical practice.

It protects a patient’s autonomy as well as establishing a foundation of trust between patient and provider.

There are times when medical procedures are able to be done while a person is unconscious and unable to give consent, but those are limited to life-saving maneuvers. CPR being a prime example.

But what they did to Hawk wasn’t done to save his life. The method of how they managed to obtain those samples when he was unable to state his nonconsent to the act...

It's deplorable.

I don’t even have to ask to know that he knows. The look in his eyes when I first saw him practically confirmed the fact. Yet, he still smiled when he saw me.

Going through something like that has the potential to break a person. To level them to the ground with grief and despair. The loss of their own autonomy? The inability to say no?

Hawk didn’t even have a chance to fight them off.

I saw the raw, reddened rings around his wrists and ankles.

The splayed bruising surrounding them indicative of the chains he must have been restrained with.

I said nothing in his presence. Not needing to.

Not wanting to remind him of what he went through.

Especially after reading the notes on the very bottom of his file.

The last mentions of the initial triage.

Male fertility confirmed via semen analysis

With his wrists bound, there was no way he could have voluntarily given that sample.

Which means someone else was responsible for collecting it.

How? Whether conscious or unconscious, Hawk would be the only person to know that information out of the two of us.

And unless he chooses otherwise, I’m going to keep this information that way as well.

Between the two of us.

Because whether or not the others in this medical facility have any sort of ethical morality, I do.

Inhaling one final breath, I lift my hand and push the door open.