Page 4 of Brax

“It doesn’t matter. No one wants her anyway. She’s a freak, and the docs already said we were to kill her. She won’t survive out there without the medications, and she can’t get those, so she’ll just lay down and die one day. She has no fucking clue where she even is,” said the guard.

Stephanie crouched low behind the overgrown garden shrubs, holding her breath with the small knife in her hands.

“She is a fucking freak,” laughed the other man. “Have you seen her face when she’s reading? It’s like looking at a damn computer absorbing information. Who would want to fuck that?”

The two men laughed and went back toward the others being loaded into vans. Stephanie waited for hours to be sure the school was empty. She had to break into the building, but she was able to find a few blankets, some warm clothing, and a few dozen cans of food in the pantry. She would need to be careful with her provisions, but she could make it until she figured out where she was and where she wanted to go.

It was weeks later before she finally knew her exact location. Living in fear for the first few months, she hid inside the school and refused to leave, even when the racoons and other animals started to make their way inside.

The problems were too many to count. She couldn’t drive. She couldn’t tell people who she was because, technically, she didn’t exist. She had no job, no skills other than her brain, and almost no social skills whatsoever.

Brave enough to venture off down the road one day, she found herself in the small little village a few miles from the school. Everyone that she met, she would question about their business or their job to learn more. Finding the woman at the resale shop was a God-send for Stephanie.

When she absolutely had to, she snuck into the small village and would sell anything that was left behind at the school. She would simply tell the woman at the resale shop that she was a thrifter. The woman didn’t care.

For Stephanie, her health situation was getting worse. Headaches, occasional seizures, and the loneliness were killing her. Which is exactly what the school wanted to happen. She was going to die by herself.

That is until the day she heard the voices of the men. She hid until they walked by her, then followed. Armed with an old pistol she’d found in the basement, she wasn’t going to allow them to take her again.

“Nothing. No appliances, no pots, pans, dishes, nothing.”

“This was a stop-over,” said Saint. He held up a syringe, the needle still on it with the needle cover. He wrapped it in a bag and tucked it in his backpack. “They kept those kids drugged until they could get them to where they wanted them.”

They heard shuffling behind them and turned to see a young woman wrapped in an oversized coat and stocking cap. She held a weapon in her hand, rusted but damn sure loaded. The pistol looked to be older than she was.

“Leave us alone,” she whispered. They all held up their hands, shaking their heads.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” said Mav. “We’re here to help you. We have a company where three girls who were here at one time now live. Do you remember the names Victoria, Chelsea, or Katelyn? Maybe the name Marilisa?”

The girl frowned at him, her brows knitting together. She didn’t appear to be any older than fourteen or fifteen, but it was difficult to tell with all the clothes on her.

“Listen, I swear to you, we don’t want to hurt you. We want to keep you safe. This school and the one a few miles from here was run by the CIA. They were training geniuses to do their work,” said Saint softly.

“They weren’t training us. They were creating us,” she whispered.

“Creating you? Creating you to do their work, right?” She shook her head.

“Are you with them?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“No. No, we’re not,” said Mav. “My name is Maverick. These are my friends, Saint, Pax, and Brax. Did you know the names of any of those girls?”

“K-Katelyn,” she whispered. Her hands were shaking, and she looked at them, almost pleading for help.

“What’s your name?” asked Brax, taking a step toward her.

“Brax,” whispered his brother. He held up a hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” he asked again.

“S-Stephanie.”

“Stephanie. That’s a beautiful name. We don’t want to hurt you. You’re cold, and I bet you’re hungry,” he said calmly. “Are there others with you?”

“No. No, they all left. I-It’s coming,” she stuttered.

“What’s coming, honey?” asked Brax.

He didn’t have to ask again. The pistol fell out of her hand, crashing to the floor. They were lucky it didn’t fire. She began seizing, her head hitting the hardwood floors. Brax immediately slid toward her, bracing her head against his thighs.

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