Migration: Beginnings (Migration Series Book 1) Read online

  “You know, you don’t have to travel today, sir,” the agent threatens, raising an eyebrow.

  Rhys quietly says, “Jase…” to again ground his husband while squeezing his bicep, and turns to the TSA officer. He knew, after spending time with everyone from Air Force enlistees to high-ranking officials just how to try and neutralize a tense situation, so he takes a breath and glances at the agent, forcing a smile. “Look, sir,” he says, diverting the attention to himself. He gives the agent his best possible demeanor and says, “He never takes it off, ever. And it’s never been a problem before. Can’t you just scan it with your wand or whatever and let him through?” When the agent doesn’t budge, he adds, “We’re on our honeymoon, sir.”

  The agent considers it, and Rhys watches as his expression changes minutely and lets out a sigh. He motions for another uniformed officer to come over and join him and the two men share a whispered conversation, the original agent nodding when they finish their discussion. “You, come on through,” he says, motioning to Rhys. As Rhys passes through, the agent turns and glances up and stares at the magnetometer readings, then motions Jason to come through as well.

  As soon as Jason walks through the metal detector (which does not alarm, just as the couple had promised), the second agent appears at Jason’s side. “Excuse me, sir,” the agent says in a monotone voice, “but you’ve been selected for additional screening.” He leans close to Jason, staying out of earshot of the other officer, but loud enough for Rhys to hear, and says, “Sorry about him,” and tilts his head toward the previous agent, who was now gruffly staring down a little old lady with a cane. “He’s a little hard-core…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jason responds.

  Once the agent grabs Jason’s shoes from the X-ray machine belt, he directs Jason to a side table, then gives a long-winded explanation of how the pat-down procedure would go, ending with, “Do you understand what I’m about to do, sir?”

  “Is it okay if my husband watches?” Jason asks, a little louder than needed, and the agent starts to blush, a smile quickly blooming on his face. Jason leans over and stage whispers, “He’s into voyeurism and all sorts of kinky shit.” And if the agent was pink before, he’s absolutely magenta by the time Jason ‘assumes the position.’

  Rhys absolutely loves it when Jason is in his element like this and understands why Jason tries out for the local community theater group when an interesting play is to be staged in Portland. It’s not something he would ever do, but it is something Jason absolutely lives for.

  Rhys gathers his backpack from the conveyor belt and lets out an easy laugh as Jason moans ever so quietly when the TSA agent snaps on the blue latex gloves, and it’s then that Rhys realizes that Jason has an audience—something that eggs his husband on even more.

  “Okay, beginning,” the agent says as he steps behind Jason, and Rhys laughs out loud when Jason manages an “Oh, yeah,” at the first pass, making crazed-looking sex faces across the lobby at Rhys and getting guffaws from the traveling public and even a few TSA agents. Meanwhile, the previous stuffy agent is actively ignoring them as he questions a mother holding a wailing infant.

  When the agent steps in front of Jason and sinks to his knees to do the second half of the examination, Jason puts out a finger. “Hold on a sec,” he says, and then bobs his eyebrows at Rhys. In that same loud voice, he calls to his husband, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll be thinking about you the whole time.” He breaks his gaze with the now laughing Rhys and looks down into the agent’s eyes and says, “Let’s do this.”

  By the time Jason’s pat down is over, there are hoots of laughter and a round of applause from all those who got to watch. Jason takes a bow, and then bounds over to Rhys, reaching out his hand, which Rhys takes. “Did you have fun, sweetheart?” Rhys asks, not able to get the grin off of his face.

  Jason just shakes his head. “Whew…I think I need a cigarette,” he says as he leans over, kissing Rhys’ cheek. After checking their surroundings, Jason drags Rhys over to the departures board to find out when and from where their plane is leaving.

  Rhys and Jason head to their assigned gate but are quickly derailed by a couple of side trips, the first, because as Jason reminds Rhys, “Gum. Remember how your ears get.” Once they are through with their purchases, they start entertaining their fellow passengers by the looks they start to get.

  “Bathroom,” Rhys points, giving his husband a raised eyebrow.

  Jason just shrugs at first, but is further spurred on by Rhys. “Seriously, Jase. You have the smallest bladder of any primate on the planet!”

  “Are you calling me a monkey, Doctor Tambor?” Jason teases.

  With a grin, and ignoring the laughter he hears from passersby, Rhys replies, “I don’t know—are you craving bananas and having an undying urge to climb trees?”

  Not to be outdone, Jason sidles up to Rhys and replies, “Let’s get on the plane and get a Bloody Mary in me first, and then we’ll see.” But he quiets his voice, still holding his amusing tone when he adds, “Or we could just find a nice quiet corner of the airport and I could climb you.”

  Rhys shakes his head, pointing Jason toward the awaiting restroom, leaving Rhys to watch their things. Once Jason is back, they gather their belongings, and head to the gate.

  They patiently wait for the flight to start boarding, talking to each other and making friends with the strangers who surround them. When it’s finally time to board, they get on the plane eagerly, making nice with the flight crew, especially when Jason hands the crew a small bag of chocolates. Even before the rest of the passengers finish boarding, Jason passes out, leaning his head against Rhys’ shoulder. If there’s one thing Rhys envies of his husband, it’s his ability to fall asleep almost anywhere, under any condition, with so little effort.

  The plane ride is lengthy but uneventful, and Jason wakes up about halfway through the journey. As Rhys and Jason talk about their upcoming vacation, and joke with the flight crew, time passes rather quickly, and before they realize it, the plane starts its descent into Maui. Rhys and Jason make their way off the plane, congratulated by the flight crew once again. They walk through the long corridors until they find their way to baggage claim, where they spot a driver holding up a sign with their names on it. They make small talk with the driver until their suitcases appear on the conveyor belt, Jason walking over to retrieve them. Afterward, they are whisked away in the oversized sedan, ready to start a week in pampered paradise.

  The couple is in full vacation mode, with excursions planned for later in the week; Jason wants to go swimming with the dolphins, while Rhys and his ever-churning scientific brain wants to do a day hike of Mount Haleakala. Still, the majority of their time is designated for either the pool (Jason’s favorite because, in his words, “Swim up bar!”) or the beach (Rhys’ favorite).

  Their first two mornings, the couple sleep in late, only getting up to run around the resort to burn off all the extra calories they’re eating. And at night, they tumble into bed, talking late into the night about life and what they should do now that they’re married.

  The subject of kids comes up again, Rhys knowing that now that they’re legally wedded, they really should look into adoption. And as they drift off to sleep at night, whispering baby names to each other, Rhys can almost hear the sound of a toddler’s feet gliding along the hardwood floor being chased by his fathers. Of course, Jason would teach the imaginary little one all about life but make Rhys answer the ‘boring’ questions, like why the sky was blue, and why they can’t eat cake for dinner.

  When the couple finally tumbles out of bed Tuesday morning, they decide to eat at one of the resort restaurants, so they shower and walk up to the main building, curious as to why there’s such a dearth of people around. They walk into the restaurant and first stop at the hostess stand, spotting all of the waitstaff and a few patrons hovering around the television in the bar.

  “What’s going on?” Jason wonders aloud, grabbing Rhys by
the arm and pulling him up to the crowd. Rhys pulls his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt, then dons them again and tries to focus on the television; it’s turned to a major news outlet, the news ticker crawling across the bottom of the screen, explaining something about a bomb that had just been set off in Portugal. The harried newscaster starts talking about hundreds of thousands either already dead or threatened by the other bombs that are supposedly spread out across Europe.

  Hundreds of thousands. It takes a second for the news to sink in, accompanied by a chill, even in the warm morning air.

  The newscaster is talking, but through the murmur of voices it is hard to understand her, so Jason asks someone if they can turn up the volume. The person behind the counter obliges, and they can finally hear what’s going on.

  “To reiterate, we’re not sure what group is to blame at this point, but it appears that a nuclear bomb has been detonated in Portugal, near the border with Spain, and we are receiving reports that there are supposed to be other bombs spread throughout Europe. Nuclear bombs. We’re also unsure as to the extent of the threat, but as of this time, the president of the European Union has called a general evacuation order for all residents in the major metropolitan areas of Europe. Let’s go to—” The broadcaster pauses and raises a hand to her ear to something being said into her earpiece as someone off-screen hands her a piece of paper.

  Rhys takes advantage of the break to turn to Jason, a concerned look on his face when he asks, “Your dad?” He follows up his question with a gentle squeeze of Jason’s arm. Whatever is going on, if the president of the EU is calling for the evacuation of major cities, it must be bigger than what’s being reported. Rhys lets his imagination run, trying not to let it run too dark, and wonders how his father-in-law is doing.

  Only taking his eyes off the screen for a second, Jason replies, “The conference is in Rome.” He finally turns to Rhys, and it’s the first time Rhys has ever seen him look truly scared, with uncertainty hiding behind his green eyes, causing Rhys to flush in a cold sweat.

  “He’ll make it out, he’ll be okay,” Rhys says with an assuring squeeze to Jason’s arm, though his voice may not be conveying the level of assurance he wants. He hopes that at least his touch grounds his husband. “Your dad’s resourceful,” he quietly adds, voice shaking gently.

  “Yeah,” Jason replies just as the newscaster comes back and acknowledges someone off-camera.

  The newscaster clears her throat, and begins again. “Okay, so our London news bureau was just given a recorded message seconds ago by a group claiming to be responsible for setting off the bomb in Portugal. A word of caution: I have been informed by my producers that this video is graphic.” She nods, and the screen changes from the bright and cheerful news studio to what looks like a recording of a Skype video session. The session connects, and there are several men hovering around the laptop broadcasting the scene around them. The men are all seated in a van that suddenly comes to a halt, and they all stream out, quickly making their way into what looks like a large building.

  As the laptop is jostled, voices with thick Russian or maybe Eastern European accents can be made out, and rapid-fire gunshots punctuate the air every few seconds. The laptop is moved, so its camera is directed at the slew of bodies that are strewn about. After a few seconds, the laptop is dumped onto a table where a few of the balaclava-clad men are frantically working on a device.

  A few seconds later, the laptop is once again picked up, and a man is staring right into the camera. He says a few words in a foreign language and then screams, “Purity! Life! Justice!” The chant is picked up by his co-conspirators. He then begins to chant in the foreign language, which has the same cadence as the English words, and Rhys can only assume that they are chanting the same three words as before.

  As the crowd around him chants, the first man stops, takes off his mask, and looks into the camera and says, “This is to start the cleansing the Earth of all the perverts and the mongrels. We will cleanse Europe of the infidels, the molesters, and the perverted. Our actions today begin a revolution to take back Europe, and we are willing to sacrifice ourselves to reach our goal. This is our land now, and we will remove those who refuse to leave, by any means necessary.”

  Rhys’ blood runs cold as he remembers the few skirmishes that had been occurring throughout Europe as of late, and he wonders if this group is tied to those who had been leading suicide bombings and general unrest across the continent. The first man begins chanting again in unison with his compatriots, with the trace of automatic machine gun sounding off in the distance. After a few rounds, the terrorist motions to those sitting just off to his side. Picking up the laptop, the camera focuses on the seriousness of the man’s expression as he screams, “Purity! Life…”

  And the screen goes white.

  No one around Rhys and Jason moves, and the only sound for a long moment is that of a crying baby somewhere in the distance. The scene in the news studio finally returns, though the newscaster, still trying to put on a professional face, is visibly shaken by what they have all just witnessed.

  “There are over ten million people in Portugal,” Jason finally says, breaking the silence as the newscaster shuffles some papers. “Almost fifty million in Spain.”

  One of the servers is so visibly shaken by what they have all just witnessed that he starts to hyperventilate and is immediately led to a chair by his coworkers. The silence is broken by the quiet murmuring of people trying to comfort him, and soon others begin to break down as well. Rhys is clearly shaken and pulls Jason to him, closing his eyes and saying a silent prayer for those lost, and those still in harm’s way.

  After a few seconds, Rhys turns his attention back to the television as Jason squeezes his hand. He watches the newscaster as she wipes a tear from her face, then takes a deep breath and starts to reiterate what few facts are known about the terrorist act itself. She brings up the name of the separatist movement that had taken hold in Europe a year previous, causing civil unrest and killing innocent civilians, all in the name of trying to retake the continent for themselves, and then reads from the paper she was handed. It seems that there have been reports of dozens of other movements by similarly armed groups in the last few minutes, scattered throughout the European Union.

  “According to some armed men who were captured just moments ago in Stockholm, there are supposedly bombs in nearly every major European city, and factions are demanding the populations leave, or they will detonate them.” She takes a deep breath, then says, “Top analysts are suggesting that these bombs, like the one detonated in Portugal moments ago, may, in fact, be Soviet-era nuclear fissile materials that were lost after the collapse of the Soviet Union.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Rhys says, comforted only by the fact that Jason is at his side. He thinks of all the possibilities of what is going on in Europe, and then comes back to the moment. “Can you call your dad?” he asks.

  Jason is torn out of his own morbid thoughts, saying, “Oh…yeah,” and pulls his phone out of his pocket, staring at it momentarily as if he’s forgotten how to use it. He finally dials and puts the phone to his ear, but instead of being connected, gets a recording Rhys can hear, that his call cannot go through due to network availability issues. He turns to Rhys, shaking his head.

  “He’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Rhys says, almost automatically, as he squeezes his husband’s arm, fighting the dark thoughts that are vying for his attention.

  “Let me try Mom,” Jason says, but gets the same result; the lines to the mainland must be completely saturated with calls, and he shakes his head as he pockets his phone.

  Someone from the hotel staff starts circulating pitchers of water and carafes of coffee to everyone standing around the television, as another server brings out a tray of ready-made pastries that are shared with the crowd. Rhys gets Jason to drink some water between attempts to call his parents, and figures they should probably go back to their room; at least from there, they can
try to use the landlines, though they are probably just as saturated as the cell phone airways. Putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder, Rhys starts to turn Jason back to their room when there is a sudden burst of commotion from the television.

  “Okay,” the newscaster says as the screen splits, the second half of the screen looking like a chaotic mess of swirling cameras as figures dressed in all black, with the clattering of machine guns announcing themselves with an irregular staccato beat. “We now take you to our London bureau where—”

  The newscaster is cut off in mid-sentence, and the screen is filled with the network’s London office, complete with decorated backdrop and the same news ticker crawling across the bottom of the screen. But instead of a newscaster, there are three masked men filling the screen. The man in the middle takes off his mask and stares into the camera as the men on either side of him aim semiautomatic rifles at people off-camera. Throwing the mask to the floor, the man calmly starts to talk.

  “You have seen what we are capable of. We, the cleansers of Europe, are tired of all the filth and perversity you have brought upon us. We have warned you, but you have not heeded that warning. And now, you all must pay the price. We are everywhere; there is nowhere in Europe that is safe from our reach.” He motions to someone off-camera and starts to chant, “Purity! Life! Justice!” and those around him pick it up as well. They are only a few choruses in when the screen goes to a mass of snow and a monotone buzzing noise.

  “Oh my god,” Rhys says as the blood drains from his face. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers in the stillness of the moment. And once again, he’s scared beyond belief and is absolutely frozen in place. There is a feeling of terror that passes through him at the thought of the massive loss of life going on half a world away, bringing back dark thoughts from America’s own terrorist attacks of 2001, and he fights off a shudder. He looks around at the shocked faces and pulls Jason to him, vowing to never let him go.