The Battle Within Read online

  The Battle Within

  The Beautiful Ones, Book 3

  Kody Boye

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other YA Novels by Kody boye

  The Battle Within

  The Beautiful Ones, #3

  By Kody Boye

  Copyright © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by KDS Cover Concepts

  Edited by Constance Frater

  Formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews or works within the public domain.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is coincidental.

  One

  The battle within is always the hardest. This is what I’ve learned throughout my time as a Beautiful One, and what I’ve come to acknowledge as a firm and sudden truth. This is why, while standing here, listening to the sound of gunfire and the stranger’s voice in front of me, I internally debate what exactly is going to happen.

  This could be a trap, my conscience offers.

  Or, I think, it could be our salvation.

  I am not the only one whose safety I have to consider. After losing Daniel, and so violently at that, I cannot afford to make a mistake.

  Which is why I step through the threshold without a second thought.

  “What’re you doing?” Wu asks. “You can’t just go in there!”

  “She’s right,” I say, turning my head to look at the woman who claims to be a member of the Southern Saints. “If we don’t accept their help, there’s no telling what might happen.”

  “You could be killed,” the woman says. “Or worse: captured. Have you heard what the North does to girls from the South?”

  “I—” Wu starts to say. “I don’t—”

  Ceyonne steps forward. “Come on,” she says, reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye. “We’re only putting ourselves in more danger by staying out here.”

  The door at the top of the stairwell bursts open, and the man who had initially pointed a gun in my face comes barreling down the steps. “We need to hurry,” he says. “I don’t know if they saw me.”

  “Now’s your chance,” the woman says, returning her gaze to Wu. “Stay here, or come with us. Your fate rests in your own hands.”

  Wu considers me, then the woman, then the stairwell, then stamps her foot and lets out a sound between a whine and a growl before crying, “Okay! Fine! I’ll go with you!”

  “Come inside. Quickly now!”

  Wu and Ceyonne pass through the threshold just in time for someone to start banging on the door leading to the outside world.

  The woman slams and locks the door with three long iron bars, then turns to face us. “Follow me,” she says, “and don’t stop for anything.”

  She turns and begins to make her way down an impossibly-narrow hall.

  I hesitate to follow—not because I am afraid of what we’ll face, but of what might follow in our wake.

  “Go,” the man with the gun says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Not sure whether to be reassured or thankful, I nod and begin to make my way down the corridor with haste I could’ve never possibly imagined.

  After coming out of the impossibly-hot and violent night, this concrete paradise feels cold and remote, as if we are standing in a place filled with ice and malice.

  Still, that doesn’t stop me from following; and still, I make haste, pursuing the woman whose flickering lighter is the only beacon within this dark place.

  She comes to a halt at the edge of the corridor and waits for us to catch up before turning down another hall.

  How long can this go? I wonder.

  I don’t know, and that’s what scares me.

  The further we make our way into this strange place, the harder it will be to escape if something goes wrong. And if something goes wrong—

  I shake my head.

  No.

  These people—these men and women who might possibly be the Southern Saints—could have left all of us for dead. Instead, they chose to offer us sanctuary, and are now working to put distance between us and our would-be assailants.

  The reality is utterly baffling.

  I’ve always been told to avoid groups who bear strange names, who live on the fringes of society, who oppose aspects of the government that have been established for decades and more. Now, I’m following them into the dark, with no hope of turning back even if I wanted to.

  Swallowing, I take a deep breath and continue to pursue the woman down the hallway.

  Halfway down it, she stops and turns to her right.

  “Where is she—” I start to ask.

  The man cuts me off by saying, “Go. Now.”

  So I follow, steadfast in my determination to keep both me and my friends safe.

  By the time the woman finally stops, it’s to bang on another iron door, and to yell, “Carter! It’s us!”

  A metal inset slides aside to reveal a pair of brown eyes set below bushy brows. “Patrice?” he asks. “Who’s with you?”

  “It’s me, Eugene, and three girls.”

  “Beautiful Ones?” he asks. “Patrice! Are you crazy? Do you know what will happen if anybody finds out—”

  “No one’s going to find out,” Patrice says. “Now open this damn door! They spotted Eugene before he could make it down the stairwell. There’s no telling if they know he came through the old passageways.”

  “You’re crazy,” the man says as he slides several locks out of place. “Absolutely, one-hundred percent craz—”

  Patrice pushes the door open as soon as the lock is undone. “Come on, girls,” she says. “Hurry now. With me.”

  I enter first, followed by Ceyonne, then Wu.

  It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the small space, but when they do, I see that we are in some kind of underground tunnel, and that the only light here is from an old-fashioned lantern, burning bright the candle within it.

  The brown-eyed man named Carter looks at me—gaze wide, mouth agape. “Patrice,” he says. “It’s—”

  “Kelendra Cross. I know.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing,” Carter continues, turning his eyes on the woman as she ushers Eugene inside before securing the door behind us. “If the capitol finds out that we’ve taken these girls in—”

  Patrice shakes her head and lifts the lamp from the floor. “Come on,” she says. “We need to get to the halls.”

  “The halls?” I ask, trembling due to not only my fear, but the nonexistent warmth in the air. “Where are you taking us?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “That isn’t good enough!” Wu cries.

  “Wu,” Ceyonne says. “Please.”

  “What if they’re the North?” the girl asks. “And what if they are the ones who’s going to do God
knows what?”

  “Have we hurt you?” Patrice asks. “Have we gagged you? Blindfolded you? Tied you up? Shoved bags over your heads or knocked you out? Because that’s what the men outside will do. You’re too pretty for your own good, girl. I’m sure they’d love to get a hold of you and do only God knows—”

  “Patrice,” Carter says.

  The woman narrows her eyes at the guard, but sighs before returning her attention to Wu and saying, “Sometimes, you just have to trust the people around you. I know you’re scared, but now is not the time to let your emotions get the best of you. You think, you die. That is what gets you killed.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and press a hand against Wu’s bare arm.

  The girl nods and says, “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  “Good girl.” Patrice pats her face and spins to face the tunnel. “I’ll take the lead. Eugene, you guard the rear.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the man with the gun says.

  Lamp in hand, eyes set ahead, the woman begins to guide us down the tunnel.

  And I, with little choice in the matter, follow.

  Our footsteps echo in the dark and hollow space. The sound of boots, the pad of feet, and the whisper of breaths permeate the space like vengeful ghosts wishing harm upon the living. My first thought is that we are being too loud, but then I consider the fact that we are beneath the ground and realize that no one can hear us.

  No one.

  No one to hear us walk. Breathe.

  Scream.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath as we continue to make our way down the tunnel.

  It seems to go on forever.

  On one hand, I am thankful, as it puts space between us and whomever may have seen Eugene. On another, it leaves me in a state of panic, because if this is truly a trap, then we are swiftly weaving our way into it.

  I expel a breath as I look forward—into the darkness ahead. “How much further?” I ask.

  “The halls are hidden within this place,” Patrice explains, “and made to be confusing. You have to know what you’re looking for in order to find where we hide.”

  “Is this, like, a secret base or something?” Ceyonne says.

  “It’s exactly that.”

  The tightness in my chest continues to worsen, as does my ability to breathe.

  Don’t panic, I think. It’s not in your best interest to lose your wits now.

  I count the passages we pass by, and attempt to piece together any rhyme or reason to them. Nothing makes sense here, in this dark and lonely place. The metal rails that run alongside us lead me to believe that this was once a train station, but I have never known trains to run underground, and I would’ve never imagined one being here, beneath the city.

  So… this place was simply abandoned?

  My question cannot be asked, nor answered, as soon, Patrice is lifting the lamp and saying, “Here we are.”

  “How do you know?” Wu asks.

  “I just do,” Patrice replies, stepping toward the threshold leading into the dark passage. “Follow me.”

  We do—slowly, effortlessly, but with trepidation I know is born of fear.

  Behind us, Eugene stops and says, “I’ll wait here.”

  “Do you have your flashlight?” Patrice asks.

  Eugene pats his hip. “Yes. I won’t use it unless I hear something, though.”

  “Good man. Come, girls. It’s just a little further. Then we can get you in some proper clothes and shoes.”

  “What is this place?” Ceyonne says.

  “The plan was to build the biggest underground railroad in all the south,” Patrice explains. “It was supposed to run east and west, from one corner of the country to the other.”

  “Then the war started,” Carter adds, “and that idea went to hell in a handbasket.”

  “As everything does,” I say.

  Ceyonne and Wu turn their heads to look at me, but offer no further comment.

  “The terminal is down this hallway,” Patrice says, taking the first few steps forward. “Mind your feet. The ground isn’t very steady here.”

  The texture beneath my feet is alien—reminiscent of a world that has long-since been abandoned. As we walk, though, and as I look around, I see memorabilia of the old world—of men and women, celebrities I would imagine, and posters that dictated shows that used to run on television. I long to reach out and touch them—to imagine what my world used to be like at one point—but find that I can’t. They are too far away, both physically and metaphorically, for me to ever grasp.

  When we reach what appears to be an end of the first long passage, Patrice spins to face us and says, “There’s a good number of us here. Don’t be afraid.”

  “We won’t be,” I say, turning to face my friends. “Right?”

  Ceyonne and Wu don’t respond.

  I muster up as much courage as I can before stepping forward.

  Within moments, the sound of voices begins to drift forward from a dimly lit row of what used to be shops.

  “Patrice?” someone calls. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, Ashton. It’s me.”

  “What in God’s name is going on up there?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Someone is attacking the city. They bombed the Spire, set fire to the streets. Soldiers are everywhere.”

  “And you brought… girls here?”

  “They aren’t just girls, Ashton. They’re Beautiful Ones.”

  As the light falls upon the young man’s face, I take note of his fiery auburn hair, of his freckled skin, of his bright green eyes that look similar to mine, and see the awe in his gaze—born not out of reverence, but dread.

  I force a smile a smile and say, “Hello.”

  “I still think this is a bad idea,” Carter says from behind me.

  “Shut up,” Patrice says. “We’ve committed ourselves by bringing them in.”

  “We could take them back. Say we were sheltering them. Keeping them safe.”

  “And you don’t think that wouldn’t draw the wrath of the government down on us? We’re an outlying faction, and considered no better than the Fanatical. They’d execute us faster than you could load bullets into a gun.”

  “Maybe not,” Carter says. “Maybe they’d give us mercy. Maybe they wouldn’t bother to take us in. Maybe… maybe…”

  Patrice shakes her head. “No. They stay here, and that’s final.”

  No one counters the woman’s statement. Why, I can’t be sure, because as I’ve come to understand, most common women within the city are not made to be leaders. However—these men, contrary as they happen to be, are also respectful, which leads me to believe that she could be someone of importance. Someone of worth. Someone high in the ranks of the Southern Saints.

  While a part of me wants to believe that these people pose us some risk, and therefor are dangerous, another part knows that they could’ve left us out in the dark to a fate only the Great God would know.

  While Patrice continues to argue with Carter over the potential ramifications of our presence, the young man named Ashton watches us with calm yet cautious eyes. Kind as they are, they hold a suspicion that I know comes from our presence, and as a result, I can’t press myself to greet him any further.

  He’s wary, I think, of what your purpose here is.

  My purpose, I think?

  I could almost laugh.

  My purpose, if it so happens to even mean anything anymore, was over the moment I set foot in this place—gone like the wind on a warm summer’s day. And besides that: anyone with a shred of intelligence could say that this whole ordeal was my fault.

  You brought them here. Pulled them down. Made the city quiver. Made it shake.

  I shiver in the cold permeating the space and turn my head to regard Ceyonne and Wu—who, dressed like me, remain ramrod straight and stiff as boards. Not a hint of emotion shines on either of their faces. They are like mirrors in that sense, with dusty complexions whose true emotions
cannot be discerned.

  When finally Carter throws his hands into the air and storms off, Patrice turns to the three of us and says, “Now that that’s over with, let’s get you girls into some proper clothes.”

  “You have some?” Ceyonne asks.

  “Yes, dear girl. We do.”

  She doesn’t bother to speak further. Rather, Patrice takes hold of the lantern that Ashton has been holding before starting forward, leading us deeper into the array of stores that stand sentinel like lost ghosts whose purposes have long since been abandoned. In them, we see lights shining, some people moving, a choice few sleeping. Those that do happen to look on do so with a sense of unease that is palpable, and heard in the whispers on their lips.

  “Who are they?” one asks

  “Are they,” another questions, “Beautiful Ones?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” a third counters. “Why would there be Beautiful Ones here?”

  Their voices carry, to the point where Wu, whose steadfast determination to remain strong has kept her afloat for the time being, begins to tremble. She draws her hands across her chest and takes hold of her arms to keep them from shaking.

  “Hey,” Ceyonne says, reaching out to press a hand on the girl’s back. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “How do you know?” Wu asks.

  “Because we’re here. Underground. Safe.”

  “We’re not safe anywhere,” the girl replies. “Not so long as we’re in the city.”

  “You’re the safest you can possibly be,” Patrice offers from ahead.

  Whether or not that’s true I’ve yet to determine.

  It doesn’t matter, though. Within moments, Patrice is stopping in front of what used to be a clothing boutique and withdrawing a set of keys from her pocket. She slides one into a lock, twists, begins to turn a lever, which lifts a metal grate that separates us from a content within. She then turns to us and says, “I trust you won’t take more than you need?”