Mother's Keeper

---

I can't sleep after the dream.

My eyes are open, staring at the concrete ceiling, but all I see is her face. The woman in black. My mother. Kneeling beside me in that pharmacy while I bled out on the floor.

She was there.

She was fucking there.

And she couldn't save me.

I sit up. My body aches. My head throbs. The adrenaline from the attack has faded, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a bone-deep soreness that makes me feel like I've been hit by a truck.

But I can't rest.

Not when I know the truth.

Not when I know she's out there somewhere, fighting the Collective, watching over me, sending messages through Damon and Sera and whoever else is in her network.

My mother.

The woman I thought was dead for seventeen years.

The woman who let me believe she was gone.

I climb to my feet. My legs are shaky, but I manage to stand. I look around the bunker. Mira is asleep in the corner, her small body curled up like a frightened animal. Cutter is snoring softly on a cot, his missing leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him.

And Damon is awake.

He's sitting by the door, his gun in his lap, watching the entrance with those grey eyes that never seem to rest.

"Can't sleep?" he asks.

"How did you know I was awake?"

"I can hear you breathing," he says. "It changes when you're awake. Faster. Shallower."

"Creepy."

"Perceptive."

I walk over to him. Lower myself onto the floor beside him. My body protests every movement, but I ignore it.

"Tell me about her," I say. "My mother."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he speaks.

"Her name is Helena," he says. "Helena Vance. She was a scientist. A brilliant one. She worked with your grandmother on the veil research."

"Until the Collective found out," he confirms.

"They wanted to control the research. Use it for their own purposes. Your grandmother refused. She went underground. Your mother went with her."

"But I was still here," I say. "In Westbridge. With my father."

"Your father wasn't part of the research," Damon says. "He was a civilian. A normal man. Your grandmother and your mother thought they could protect you by keeping you away from the truth."

"How did they protect me? I grew up thinking my mother was dead. I spent my whole life mourning her. And she was alive the whole time?"

He doesn't answer.

"Where is she now?" I ask.

"I don't know," he says. "She was at the train station. But after the attack, she went to ground. We haven't heard from her since."

"She could be dead."

"She could be," he admits. "But I don't think she is. Your mother is a survivor. She's been running from the Collective for thirty years. She knows how to stay alive."

"So does the Collective," I say. "And they just found us. They found the bunker. What's stopping them from finding her?"

"Nothing," he says. "That's why we need to move fast."

I look at him. At the set of his jaw. At the way his fingers rest on the trigger of his gun, ready to act at a moment's notice.

"You really believe in me," I say. "Don't you?"

He meets my eyes. "I believe you can do this. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Why? What's in it for you?"

He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low. Rough. Like the words are hard to get out.

"I lost my team," he says. "My whole unit. Ambushed by the Collective three years ago. I was the only survivor."

He looks away.

"I should have died with them. I wanted to. I wished for it every night for a year. But then I met your mother. She told me about the veil. About the Receptors. About the people who were fighting to stop the end of the world."

He meets my eyes again.

"She gave me a reason to live," he says. "I'm not going to let her down."

I don't know what to say. So I just nod.

"We'll find her," I say. "I promise."

---

The next morning, we plan.

Damon spreads out a map on the floor—a map of Westbridge and the surrounding area. There are markings on it. Symbols. Safe houses. Supply caches. Locations that the network has been using for years.

"The Collective has been preparing for the veil for centuries," he says. "They have compounds all over the world. But their main headquarters is here."

He points to a spot on the map. A mountain range about a hundred miles from Westbridge.

"There's a facility there," he says. "Underground. Heavily fortified. That's where they keep their research. Their weapons. Their prisoners."

"Prisoners?"

"Receptors," he says. "Other people like you. They've been capturing them for years. Experimenting on them. Trying to figure out how to control the veil."

My stomach turns.

"Are they still alive?"

"Some of them," he says. "The ones they haven't... used up."

I feel sick. But I don't show it.

"We need to get there," I say. "We need to save them."

"We need to get your mother first," he says. "She's been tracking the facility for years. She knows how to get in. Without her, we're going in blind."

"Then we find her."

He nods. "There's a safe house about ten miles from here. An old farmhouse. She might be there. It's one of our last known locations."

"Then that's where we're going."

---

We leave the bunker at dawn.

The sky is still dark. The veil is thicker now, pressing down on the world like a weight. The air tastes like ash. Like something rotten.

Mira is terrified. I can see it in her eyes. In the way she clings to my hand, her fingers cold and trembling.

"Stay close," I tell her. "Don't let go of my hand."

"Okay," she whispers.

Cutter is walking behind us, limping on his crutch. His face is pale, but his eyes are determined. Damon is ahead, scouting the path, his gun always ready.

We walk for hours.

The city is a ghost town. Abandoned cars litter the streets. Windows are shattered. Doors are hanging open. There's no one around. No one except us.

And the shadows.

They're everywhere now. Dark shapes that move at the edges of my vision. Whispers that I can't quite hear. Fingers that brush against my skin and then disappear.

I ignore them.

I can't afford to be afraid.

---

We reach the farmhouse just before noon.

It's a small, run-down building on the edge of a cornfield. The crops are dead. Brown and withered. The house itself looks abandoned, its windows boarded up, its porch sagging.

But there's smoke coming from the chimney.

"She's here," Damon says.

He approaches the front door. Knocks three times, then twice, then once. A signal.

The door opens a crack. A face appears.

The woman in black.

My mother.

She looks older than I remember. Older than the photograph. Her hair is grey now, streaked with white. Her face is lined with wrinkles. But her eyes—her eyes are the same. Sharp. Intelligent. Watching.

"Elara," she says.

I can't speak. I can't move. I just stand there, staring at the woman who was supposed to be dead.

"Get inside," she says. "Both of you."

She opens the door wider. We step inside.

The farmhouse is small. Sparse. A single room with a bed, a table, and a wood-burning stove. There are maps on the walls. Photographs. Notes.

I look at my mother.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"I'm Helena," she says. "I'm your mother."

"You let me think you were dead."

"I had to."

"Seventeen years," I say. "Seventeen years, I thought you were gone. I mourned you. I cried for you. And you were alive the whole time?"

"Elara—"

"Don't," I say. "Don't try to explain. I don't want to hear it."

She looks at me and started weeping softly.

"I know you're angry," she says. "You have every right to be. But I did what I had to do. To protect you. To protect everyone."

"Protect me from what?"

"From them," she says. "From the Collective. They killed my mother. They killed your grandmother. I knew they would come for you too. So I disappeared. I went underground. I spent my whole life fighting them so you could live."

"Live?" I laugh. It's a bitter sound. "I died, Mom. I died three days after the apocalypse started. I bled out on the floor of a pharmacy. Alone. Scared. Abandoned by everyone who was supposed to love me."

She flinches. Like I slapped her.

"I know," she says. "I saw it. I was there."

I freeze.

"You were there?"

"In the pharmacy," she says. "I was there. I tried to save you. I tried to stop the bleeding. But I was too late. You were already gone."

"Why didn't you come earlier? Why didn't you save me?"

"I didn't know," she says. "I didn't know you were there. I didn't know what was happening until it was too late. I failed you. I know I did. And I've been trying to make up for it ever since."

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to feel. Anger. Grief. Relief. It's all tangled up inside me.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I ask.

"Because you need to know," she says. "Because you're the only one who can stop this. The only one who can break the cycle."

"What cycle?"

"The veil," she says. "It comes every few thousand years. It destroys everything. And then it starts over. New world. New people. New life. But this time—this time, the Collective wants to control it. They want to use it to remake the world in their image."

"And I'm supposed to stop them."

"You're the only one who can," she says. "You have the power. The same power your grandmother had. The same power I have. But yours is stronger. Yours is—different."

"How?"

"I don't know," she says. "It's never happened before. A Receptor as powerful as you. It's why the Collective is so desperate to find you. To control you."

I look at her. At the woman who gave birth to me. At the woman who abandoned me. At the woman who spent her whole life fighting to protect me.

"What do I need to do?" I ask.

She reaches out. Takes my hand.

"First," she says. "We need to get you trained. You can't fight the Collective if you don't know how to use your power."

"Then train me."

She smiles. It's a sad smile. The kind of smile that's seen too much.

"I can't train you," she says. "You need someone else. Someone who's been doing this longer than I have."

"Who?"

She looks at Damon. He's standing in the doorway, watching us.

"Her name is Sera," she says. "She's the one who's been running the network. She's the one who found me after your grandmother died. She knows more about the veil than anyone alive."

"Where is she?"

"Safe," Helena says. "Recovering. She was shot at the train station. She almost died."

"Then we need to get to her."

"We will," she says. "But first, we need to survive tonight. The Collective knows where we are now. They'll be coming for us."

"How long do we have?"

She looks out the window. At the dark sky.

"Hours," she says. "Maybe less."

I feel the familiar chill in my chest.

"Then we need to get ready."

---

I look around the farmhouse. At the maps on the walls. At the weapons on the table. At the woman who's been fighting this war for my entire life.

"Okay," I say. "Let's fight."

She nods.

"Let's fight".

---