Page 98 of Claimed by an Alien Warrior

She walked toward the bathroom, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be right in here. Eat. I grabbed some more sandwiches while I was in the store. And a Twix.”

“Why won’t you tell me what you’re going to do in there, Zoey?”

“You’ll see when I’m done.”

Zoey closed and locked the door before he could say anything else. The bathroom lived up to the promise made by the rest of the room, with exposed, rusted pipes, chipped porcelain, and broken tiles, but it was surprisingly clean.

She set the bag on the edge of the sink and removed the small boxes and pair of scissors from within. Watching herself in the mirror, she removed the baseball cap and set it aside, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. She picked up the scissors in one hand and lifted a thick hank of hair in the other.

Tears blurred her eyes. She’d always loved her hair — it was one of the only things she’d been happy with when it came to her appearance. But it was just hair. It would grow back in time.

So why am I crying over it?

Because this isme.

No, that wasn’t it. There was a deeper truth, and all she needed to do was admit it to herself.

It’s because when Ren is gone I’ll have nothing and no one.

“I can do this,” Zoey whispered. She took a deep breath and made her first snip. The flow of tears began as the lock of hair fell to the floor.

Ren sighed and turned away from the bathroom door. He trusted her, but her refusal to answer him was troubling.

He swept his gaze over the rest of the room. He’d endured objectively worse accommodations many times during his life, but he wanted better for Zoey. She deserved better. That their circumstances — circumstances caused by Ren — had brought them to this was regrettable. But they were together, and they were safe. That meant something.

That meanteverything.

He switched on the TV to pass the time. He’d learned that all remote controls had similar functions for their buttons, even though their layouts varied; unfortunately, all but three channels displayed only a snowy picture.

He left it on thenews. Though much of what the man and woman on the screen spoke about was meaningless to him, one thing carried through — violence. Most of their stories seemed to touch upon it in some way. If not a violent event, it was the threat of one. Even having been raised in the Khorzar, bred and conditioned for war, Ren was surprised at the prevalence of such savagery among the humans.

Warriors were supposed to battle to protect civilians from acts like this. To provide their people peace.

Though their society was not free of crime, the aligarii and the other species who lived with them enjoyed safe, happy lives, without the fear of being harmed by one another.

Did the humans need guidance? Their technology, though primitive, had the potential to grow and eventually bring their species beyond the bounds of their home planet. Would they join the intergalactic community as friends and allies, or as would-be conquerors? Should they be considered a future threat or an opportunity to enrich intergalactic society?

Was Zoey an exception to their seemingly cruel, violent nature, or was she the truth of who the humans were as a people? The truth of who theycouldbe?

His thoughts were broken when the TV displayed an oddly familiar scene in a still image — a snowy parking lot, a red truck, and an enforcer aiming his weapon at a large individual in a long coat and a hood.

“New information on the viral video that’s taken the world by storm over the last twenty-four hours,” the woman’s voice said.

Ren watched as the enforcer fired his weapon, watched the shield flash as it absorbed the projectiles, watched the camera shake as the figure on the screen charged the enforcer. Ren hadn’t hidden his arms or his eyes. He’d been too angry to care.

“Though many are calling the footage an expertly executed hoax, it seems the woman in the footage, who has been identified as Zoey Weston of Santa Barbara, California, is currently on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.”

The moving image froze and zoomed in, offering a grainy view of Zoey’s face, and then split to display a clear image of her beside it. Most of her body was blocked by the enforcer and Rendash due to the angle of the recording. Despite the poor quality of the image, Ren recognized the fear on her face.

“We go now to an excerpt of the press conference held this evening in Vail, Colorado.”

The screen changed to a man standing in front of a crowd, leaning over a podium and speaking. Several uniformed enforcers stood behind and around him. “Though we cannot currently share the details,” the man said, “Zoey Weston is wanted for the murder of Matthew Johnson in Utah last week. We consider Weston and her unidentified companion armed and extremely dangerous. Any information on their whereabouts should be reported directly to your local law enforcement. We have reason to believe they are moving eastbound through the Midwestern states.”

The crowd began speaking all at once, their voices too jumbled to make out, until the man at the podium acknowledged one of the audience members.

“Can you comment on the alien that was clearly displayed in the footage?” came the muted question.

“We have no comment on the authenticity of that footage at this time. The events surrounding this traffic stop are currently under investigation, and the police officer involved is recovering from his injuries. What is important is that Zoey Weston and her companion are dangerous, and they need to be caught so they can face justice for their crimes —beforethey do any more damage.”

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