The Phoenix Creation 🆕⭐⭐⭐⭐ (on Amazon)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The Patrol Cadets

It was a strange feeling having big secrets and then going about your day as if everything was normal. Sometimes Alya would be doing something dull, like untangling her unruly hair, and then she'd remember that she must go and purchase three hairbrushes from her grandmother's shopping list, to give to Madison and her sisters when they arrived. It was moments like this that made her remember her and her family's unique situation. Sometimes she fretted and sometimes she decided to let the weight of it roll off her shoulders, as if it didn't belong to her. Not her problem.

But it was her problem, increasingly so. Her grandparents had sworn her to secrecy and she felt terrible lying to her parents and her aunt but they'd explained the importance of it as; if they got caught then they would take the blame, but they couldn't allow their family to be implicated in any wrongdoings with them. Seb seemed to think that if the worst came to the worst, and they were found to be sheltering an entire family of human survivors, then the law would protect them, maybe not straight away, but sentencing an older couple and two young girls and a young pregnant woman to time in the penitentiary wouldn't sit well with any judge, and he felt sure the general public would be supportive. Survivors were such a rarity, and Pasha was certain that if discovered, they would be honoured and celebrated rather than reviled as they had been in the past; especially as medicine had moved quickly to eliminate almost any disease that a survivor may carry. Still, the implications were unknown, and even if they were collectively spared the Pen, there was no telling what the repercussions would be for Leo and Zeph. There would no doubt be a full investigation, and if Mobi was discovered then there would be a propaganda nightmare that the authorities would want to quash, so it was best to keep things hush-hush for now.

Seb had thought of everything. He'd been steadfastly working on an underground complex for Madison and her family using one of his old redundant barns as camouflage. He'd set Pasha to work growing extra food so as not to arouse suspicion at the local supermarket, and he'd attended the doctor's surgery on a weekly basis with every ailment under the sun to stock an impressive supply of medicines.

Pasha had been in full throttle sourcing material for clothes for when the girls and their parents arrived and she'd hit the books to become fully informed in midwifery although she looked scared as hell when she related this to Alya.

Alya's job was to help with the little things, like the hairbrushes which would look a little odd if Pasha bought multiples of everything locally. Hairbrushes, books, magazines for eight and ten-year-old girls, shoes in different sizes, pens and paper, videos and music and games, and anything and everything to do with a baby. Alya felt ridiculous heading to West District where she wouldn't be recognised to buy a crib and nappies. She didn't know what she was looking at, and the kind salesperson saw her evident discomfort and helped her out.

'Is it for you?' said the lady doubtfully.

'Oh, no,' rushed Alya, 'definitely not for me. I er, I, er, I volunteer for a charity and this is for a means-challenged young woman over in East-Side.'

The story was easily plausible and the helpful salesperson had Alya kitted out in no time.

Poppy and Grandma were extremely relieved to have Alya on their side as they received the goods in dribs and drabs, over the course of the rest of the holidays. Alya felt humbled that they'd put their trust in her and also energised by a sense of purpose. It was the first time she'd truly had to think about someone else's welfare, and it brought a weighty sense of responsibility which she'd had trouble defining to begin with, until her grandma had put it into words for her.