Renegade Runner Nicole Conway (christmas read aloud txt) 📖

outside my window, its engines roaring loud enough to make the glass vibrate.

I scrambled back, pressing against the farthest wall as the driver of what I could only compare to some alien version of a luxury speedboat reached out to touch my window. I couldn’t tell much about the driver thanks to the heavy, drape-like cloak it wore swathed around its long frame like a cocoon of shiny black fabric. That, paired with a sleek helmet, obscured all its features. Still, something told me whatever was under all that garb wasn’t human, even if it did have the same general shape.

“Human female,” a smooth, feminine voice announced in a cool, even tone. “Wild-caught from Earth. Previous owners: none. Age is estimated at eighteen years of an expected ninety-year lifespan. Overall health: excellent. Reproductive potential: excellent.”

Hang on, what? Had that thing seriously just said “reproductive potential?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was I really being sold as a breeder like Enola had said?

My jaw clenched. No. Freaking. Way.

I balled my fists and glared around for the source of the voice. There wasn’t one. Not that I could see, anyway. A computer, then? Or just something pre-recorded?

“Harvester’s notes: specimen was documented and studied thoroughly for her running ability, achieving land speeds that place her within the top two percent of her species.”

Running—once again that word hit me like a punch to the nose.

I sucked in a sharp breath, images of that same scene flickering to life from the depths of my mind. The road. The warmth of the setting sun at my back. The gritty sweat on my skin. A loud rhythmic noise humming in my ears. Music?

My spine stiffened as a realization shot through me like a bolt of lightning, igniting every dark corner of my memory for a moment.

I wasn’t just running. I was training.

“The trials.” I gasped quietly. There was no one else there that could hear me, but I needed to hear myself say it. “I was … training for the Olympic qualifying trials.”

More memories flooded in like a dam had burst in my brain, overcrowding my head with visions of high school track meets under a scorching summer sun. My mom screaming in the stands with her hair in a ponytail and her big purple sunglasses hiding most of her face. A tall, middle-aged man with dark brown skin and an orange ball cap yelling at me from the sidelines. Coach Mike? The sudden pop of the starting gun. My body jolting forward and the smell of the heat rising off the rubber-textured track. Chatting with my teammates on the sidelines. The long car rides home with my feet propped on the dash and the window rolled down so the warm, humid wind could tease through my sweaty hair.

I slid slowly down the wall, my knees giving way until I was sitting on the floor again. Just like before, the memories didn’t stick. Not completely, anyway. They came and went like a roaring tsunami, overwhelming in a rush and then slowly fading away. Some things lingered—and I didn’t dare let them go.

I stared straight ahead at the alien craft still hovering right outside, unable to comprehend anything else it was doing. How could I have forgotten so much? Had they done something else to my brain that Enola hadn’t known about? Something to make me forget my life before? Obviously, if that was the case, it hadn’t worked. Not completely, anyway. Sure, my memory was spotty, but I still knew who I was. And I was already filling in the gaps of everything else.

Eventually, the memories would all stick, right? They had to.

Or so I hoped.

A flourish of movement and a glimmer of something silver caught my eye. The driver of the craft swiped its hand over the glass, activating a small rectangular screen. Checking my price, maybe? Whatever it did or might have said, I couldn’t tell.

And at that moment, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was remember—to recollect all those memories again.

That is, until the female voice spoke again. “Transaction complete. Thank you for your purchase. Specimens can be collected at the cargo loading bay. For suggestions on breeding or renegade pairings, please take note of the available candidates listed below.”

6

ORIENTATION

Another puff of that awful purple gas. Another futile struggle to stay conscious. And once again, I woke up in a new cell, sprawled unceremoniously on the floor like I’d been dropped there.

Okay, this was getting really freaking old.

Was this going to be my life now? Just being tossed from one box to another like a kid’s toy doll? Never seeing anyone familiar?

As I lay on my back, stretched out on the cold metal floor of the dimly lit room not much bigger than the last, I wondered if it was even worth getting up. What was the point if they were just going to gas me again?

Suddenly, my skin shivered at vibrations and distant clunks and thumps that resonated from the floor beneath me. Almost like … we were moving.

Was I on another spaceship?

I sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of my head. The area around my ling-con implant was still tender. Of course, being schlepped around like an old suitcase at the airport wasn’t helping. That had to stop soon or Enola’s concern about me having an aneurism might actually happen.

The faint glow from a thin strip of lights along the ceiling was barely enough to see by as I squinted around the room. There was nothing accommodating about this cell—no windows, no furniture, and no drinking fountain or toilet. My stomach roiled and writhed, forcing me to swallow against the growing rawness in my throat. I wondered if that was a good or bad thing. If they didn’t even have a toilet here then I might not be staying for very long, right?

I yelped, scrambling backward across the floor as the lights suddenly brightened and a compartment slid open on one of the metal