Authors: Norma Hinkens
T
rout sticks
his head through the hole in the wall. “Give me a hand, Derry. I’m not as skinny as you.”
I spin around and stare at him, my breath coming in short, panicked stabs.
“What is it?” His face creases in alarm. He casts a quick glance around the empty space, and then mutters something under his breath. His voice is hard as flint when he speaks. “Check the strong room!”
I pull myself together, run to the door, and wrench it open. “It’s empty!”
“Then get out of there.
Now!
” Trout yells back.
The urgency in his voice finally activates my flight response. I scramble up into the opening, legs flexing like spaghetti beneath me. My brain races, trying to piece together what could have happened. Were we followed? Or did someone stumble on the weapons? And where are they now? Trout reaches for my arm, half-dragging me through the opening. I pick myself up off the floor, my skin prickling with fear.
“We shouldn’t have left them, not even for a minute,” Trout says, angrily. “Wasting time chasing down that kid.”
“Easy,” I say, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He shakes it off, then turns to Brock, glowering. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Brock shakes his head vehemently, trips backward a couple of steps. “No! I was with you the whole time.”
Trout grimaces. “Yeah, feeding us treats like we’re dogs. Pretty effective delay tactic.” He sticks his face up close to Brock’s. “Who else is holed up in here with you?”
Brock’s bottom lip begins to vibrate. “No … no one. It’s just me.”
“Did you build the false wall?”
Brock shakes his head vehemently. “I didn’t even know it was there.”
“Leave the kid alone.” Jakob grabs Trout by the arm. “He’s telling the truth.”
Trout steps back, his face softening. He runs his hand over the back of his neck, and blows out a hard breath. “I know, I just had to be sure.”
“We need to get out of here,” I say, snapping back into gear. “Whoever has those weapons probably split already. Rogues, most likely. We need to reach the riders before it’s too late.”
“You don’t think whoever took the guns would harm the riders, do you?” Jakob asks.
“I don’t know.” I rumple my brow. “Maybe. If they wanted the horses.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Trout says, grabbing his pack.
M
inutes later
, we’re back at the reeducation center main entrance. I peer out from behind the steel doors and pan the area inside the perimeter fence, then motion for the others to follow. I jog toward the gap in the fence, bracing for a bullet, flinching at every shadow that shifts. As I run I heave cold, rasping breaths of night air, chancing a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the others are behind me. My legs won’t pump any faster, but the trees don’t seem to be getting any closer. Fear swells inside me with every stride. Those weapons didn’t pick themselves up and walk off into the night.
We pile up like freight cars at the broken section of the fence we came in by.
“Hurry!” I say, casting a quick glance around to make sure we’re not being followed.
We shove each other through the opening, and hotfoot it toward the tree line. I push through the undergrowth until it closes in around me, and the reeducation center is obscured from view. Gasping, I come to a halt and lean forward on my thighs to catch my breath. Sweat drips off the end of my nose. The others pull up alongside me, and collapse on the ground, panting.
“You okay?” I ask, looking down at Jakob. He nods, still trying to catch his breath, then gestures at Brock, curled into a ball beside him, his scrawny frame shaking like a jelly.
“Hey! Brock!” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” he replies, his voice muffled. He rolls over and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes.
I kneel down and help him into a sitting position. “What is it?”
He sniffs, wipes his sleeve carefully across his nose. “I’m scared of the Rogues.” His voice wavers. “And I miss my family.”
My heart twists. It’s a pain I can’t erase, not for him, not for Izzy, not for any of us. The Rogues won’t stop butchering Undergrounders as long as the bootlegged clones keep operating as snitches. The only way to stop the killing is to eradicate the Sweepers. It’s the right choice, no matter the cost.
Trout gets to his feet. “We need to find the riders,” he says. He reaches for his pack and winces.
“Is your hand hurting?” Jakob asks.
“Throbbing like crazy.”
“It’s probably just ’cause your blood’s pounding through you right now,” Jakob says. “Once we get back to the city, you can have the doctor take a look at it just to be safe.”
I sling my rifle over my shoulder. “Let’s go, and stay alert. Remember what Big Ed always says,
you can hear in all directions
.”
Jakob stares at me for a long moment, then looks away, disconcerted. I’ve avoided mentioning Big Ed since we left him behind at the Council’s base. Mainly because I know Jakob feels guilty about ditching him. No doubt Big Ed raked himself over the coals when he discovered Jakob had disappeared in the middle of the night. I’m still worried he might have set out after him, but he hasn’t shown up at the city yet.
When we finally reach the clearing where we left Jody and the other riders, the last glimmer of hope inside me, flickers and dies. They’ve already packed up and gone.
Jakob stares forlornly at a pile of horse manure. “We’ll never catch them on foot. Now what?”
Trout gestures with his chin at the fringe of tawny light on the horizon. “It’s too dangerous to head back now. The sun will be up in another hour.”
Brock shuffles his oversized boots nervously in the leaves beneath him. “We can’t stay here. I’ve seen Sweeper ships hovering around the reeducation center.”
“So we’ve got two lousy choices,” Jakob says. “Follow the riders, and risk extraction. Or hunker down until nightfall, and risk being attacked by whoever stole the weapons.”
“We could go back to the center,” Brock suggests.
“No.” I shake my head. “Whoever took those guns might still be in there. We could end up trapped inside.” I study the sky dubiously. “There’s a chance the riders had to switch up their hiding spot if there were Rogues in the area. I say we follow their trail. They might still be waiting for us.”
The others exchange perturbed glances. Trout scratches his forehead. “All right, but if there’s no sign of them in the next hour or two, we’ll cut a swathe deep into the undergrowth and hunker down until nightfall.”
I raise a questioning brow at Jakob and he gives a disgruntled nod in response. “You stay close to me,” he says, putting an arm around Brock as we set off.
The horses’ trail is difficult to follow, the ground too hard to detect any reliable prints. To make matters worse, it’s not light out yet and, despite all our efforts to coax some cooperation out of our flashlights, most of them are certifiably dead. More than once I’m tempted to abandon the attempt, and find some place safe to hole up in instead. But then I make out another hoof print and convince myself we can still catch up with Jody and Ida.
Just when dawn is beginning to spill between the seams of the slate colored mountains, I hear a breathy snort followed by a deep, resonant nicker. I spin around to the others, a smile exploding over my face. “Did you hear that?”
Jakob and Brock look at one another and grin. Trout lets out a wild whoop. Abandoning every last ounce of caution, we sprint off through the brush in the direction the sounds came from. “Jody!” I yell. “Ida, where are you?”
I hear a loud whistle, and immediately alter course to follow it, my heart pounding. Seconds later, I burst through a thicket into a small clearing and startle one of the pack horses. He rears up and bares his teeth at me. The others burst through after me, sending him into an even bigger frenzy.
“Whoa! Easy, boy,” Trout says.
Jody dashes over and grabs the horse’s rope, then turns to us, grinning. “Took your sweet time.”
A relieved smile breaks over my face. “I told you not to wait.”
“I try not to leave riders behind.”
“Especially not novices,” Ida says, joining us. She eyes Brock curiously. “Who’s the kid?”
“This is Brock. He survived a raid on his bunker two months ago, and he’s been living in the reeducation center ever since.”
“By yourself?” Jody tips her hat up at him, her face registering disbelief.
He shrugs. “There’s canned fruit and vegetables in the kitchen.”
“Did you bring any?” Ida asks, arching a hopeful brow at me.
I shake my head. “Just some antibiotics.” I grimace. “Someone took the weapons we found.”
Jody walks over to one of the pack horses and flips open the saddlebags. “You mean
these
weapons?”
My jaw drops.
“How did you …” Jakob looks from Jody to me and then back to Jody.
Jody laughs. “You were gone for hours, so we took a couple of the pack horses and went after you. We followed your footprints to the weapons. When we couldn’t find you anywhere, we hauled the guns and ammo out of there and loaded them up. We waited around for another half hour or so, and then started back.”
“That must have been during our sugar fest. We were down a level in the kitchen area, and didn’t hear a thing,” Jakob replies. “We lost track of time.”
“Can we please go now?” Brock asks.
Jody turns to me. “He’ll have to ride a pack horse. Won’t be easy with the saddle bags.”
“I know how to ride,” Brock says, leveling his gaze at her. “My dad’s … my dad was a rancher.”
Jody nods, a flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes. “Good enough for me.”
She walks over to one of the pack horses at the far end of the clearing and rubs his neck briskly. “This old boy’s a sweetheart. Come on. I’ll give you a leg up.” She helps Brock onto the horse, and adjusts the saddle bags beneath him.
“Watch this,” Brock calls to us, as he guides the horse around in a circle.
Jakob gives him a thumbs up. “Maybe you can give me a lesson when we get back.”
Brock smiles, then seconds later his face contorts. I catch a glint of something, a ripple of air like a serpent’s breath, then a dull thud as his body hits the ground. The gleaming tube whips around and suctions onto him, leech-like and merciless. The horses rear up and snort, their eyes bulging. I gasp, as the horror of what’s happening hits me.
Brock’s piercing scream cuts through the air as the tube yanks him up and out of the clearing. I watch, helplessly, as he’s wrenched skyward, toothpick legs flailing in his oversized boots.
H
alf-blinded
by a cloud of dust kicked up by the spooked horses, I stumble around, calling out frantically for the others.
“Jump up!” Jody yells, riding up alongside me. She thrusts out a hand, a look of grim determination on her face.
I hesitate, my eyes tearing up from the grit. “What about the others?”
“They’re coming. Grab my hand!”
I throw a glance back at the whinnying dust cloud behind us, then grip Jody’s glove and swing myself up behind her. Before I’m fully seated, Condor rockets out of the clearing, ears flattened. I dig in my thighs and cling to Jody’s waist as we gallop madly through the forest, tree limbs scratching at us like ravenous claws.
My thoughts swirl in a dark cloud of disbelief and despair. I’m sick to the pit of my stomach at what just happened. We promised Brock we’d get him safely to the city. I can only imagine how terrified he must feel strapped inside a Hovermedes. We have to reach the Craniopolis and save him before it’s too late. There’s no time to waste training the Undergrounders. Either Jerome agrees to leave right away, or I leave without him.
We ride hard, for a boneshaking hour, until Jody finally slows Condor to a trot. “That’s the city up ahead,” she says.
I peer through the trees and squint into the sun, now rising on the horizon like a flaming hot air balloon. A citrus-colored wash spills over the granite peaks. In the distance I can make out the steel girder and barbed-wire barricade wrapped around Shoshane City like a sleeping anaconda. Tears prickle my nose. It’s a bittersweet sight. Brock should have been here with us.
We cover another quarter mile or so before Jody brings Condor to an abrupt halt in a small copse of trees. I squeeze my knees together to avoid sliding off. “Why are we stopping?” I ask, as the rest of the group trots up alongside us.
She reaches into a saddle bag and pulls out a pair of binoculars. “Red flag’s up by the entry.”
“What does that mean?” Trout asks.
“Hostiles spotted,” Jody answers in a grim tone. She lets the reins go slack and twists her torso slowly as she pans the barricade.
I frown. “Maybe the Rogues have come back for Blade.”
“Now what?” Jakob asks, scratching his brow. “Are we stuck here?”
“We’ll skirt around to the north side of the barricade,” Jody replies. “If there’s no red flag hanging on that side, it’s safe to go in that way.”
“I thought there was only one entry gate,” Trout says.
“There is.” Jody slips the binoculars back into her saddle bag, and throws him a knowing look. “Trust me on this.” She makes a clicking sound, pulses once with her legs, and we’re off again. I lean forward, my stomach muscles clenching into a familiar, burning knot as we pick up speed. We keep to the cover of the trees, cutting a steady line north to the outskirts of the city.
Minutes later, we slow our pace again and make a ninety degree turn toward the barricade. I anxiously scan the debris for any sign of a container gate, but there’s nothing that looks even remotely like a way in. I keep a wary eye out for Rogues as we weave our way through abandoned shopping carts, burnt out vehicles, mangled iron and broken signage. A one-eyed doll peers up at me from atop a pile of splintered lumber and warped siding. My mind flits back to the deviations in the Craniopolis, discards in a world that has lost all reason. The Shoshane City I grew up in, bustling with shops and malls, cars and bikes zipping by, seems more and more like some wishful apparition I dreamed up.
We pick a path through what’s left of a disused gas station, the lone pump tilting in an awkward salute to its fallen comrades. A hazy memory of Ma slipping Owen and me a few bucks to run into the convenience store while she gassed up comes to mind. I always came back out with a bag of Whoppers, but I can’t remember what they taste like anymore. Even the bright colors on the wrapper have faded to a dull wash in my mind.
At first I think Jody’s picking a random path through the festering trash, but then I realize it’s a cleverly camouflaged trail that zigzags toward the barricade. There’s still no apparent entry into the city from this side, and the closer we get, the more perplexed I become. “How are we going to get through the barricade?” I ask, leaning forward to talk in Jody’s ear.
“We’re not,” she says, with a chuckle. “We’re going under.”
I look around for some indication of a tunnel, but come up flat. Whatever they’ve got going on here, it’s well-concealed. Twenty feet from the barricade, Jody pulls hard on the reins and turns around to me. “Here’s where we dismount,” she says.
I slide down from Condor’s back and shrug in response to Trout’s raised brows.
Jody jumps down and hands Condor’s reins to me. “Hold these for a minute,” she says. She walks over to a rusted out shell of an old school bus with all the windows busted out. A mouse darts past a gnawed Avengers lunchbox lying by the front wheel and disappears. Jody leans inside and lifts up the knotted end of a rope hidden in the stuffing of the driver’s seat. She yanks on it hard three times.
A baffled look flits across Trout’s face. “What’s she doing?”
Ida grins. “Ringing the doorbell to the underworld.”
A moment later, a low creaking begins in the bowels of the wreckage. My eyes dart around in alarm. “What’s that noise?”
“Watch the bus,” Ida says, gesturing at it.
My eyes widen as the entire carcass of the bus slowly hinges back, revealing a large, dirt tunnel that slopes underground.
“The bus is on a pulley system,” Ida explains, a hint of pride in her voice. “It can only be opened from underground.”
“Let’s go!” Jody casts a quick glance behind us, then grabs the reins back from me and leads Condor down into the darkness. Ida follows suit, leading the tethered pack horses behind her own.
“That’s pretty sick,” Trout says, shaking his head in disbelief as he follows the riders.
“Better get a move on, before the Magic School Bus hatch closes,” I say to Jakob. He holds out his hand for mine as we descend into the earthen tunnel, but I pretend not to notice. The low, creaking begins again and the light behind us disappears.
T
he tunnel leads
up into a deserted building with a loading dock at one end. Several armed Undergrounders vet us like bridge trolls as we exit, nodding grimly.
“City’s on full alert,” one of them says. “Jerome wants to see you at the courthouse.”
“We’re headed there right now,” I reply.
We make our way outside and across the deserted city. My stomach grinds constantly with the sick, twisted fear that we won’t make it to the Craniopolis in time to save Brock, let alone Owen and Panju. If Rogues are closing in on the city, how will I ever be able to persuade Jerome to leave right now?
Several more armed Undergrounders greet us on the courthouse steps and direct Jody and Ida to tie up the horses at a rail out front. “Jerome ordered us to keep the exit ways clear,” one of the guards explains.
Jody turns to me. “I’m not leaving the horses here.” She drops her voice. “Not with all the weapons they’re packing. Ida and I will take them back to the barn while you go in and talk to Jerome.”
“And I need to get the medicine to Izzy’s brother right away,” Jakob says, patting his backpack. “Every minute counts. You can bring me up to speed later.”
I raise my brows at Trout. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me you’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”
“Don’t worry,” he grins, waving his bandaged hand in front of my face. “Doc Jakob has me all taken care of. I keep telling you he’s a stand-up guy.”
I roll my eyes at him. “We’re getting your head, as well as your hand, looked at after this, I can promise you that.”
We jog up the steps and through the main entrance, and run straight into Sven in the foyer. My heart jolts in slow motion, and for a frozen moment in time I forget about everything that’s just happened.
“You’re back!” he says, his amber eyes sparkling with a level of emotion I’ve never seen in them before. “I was worried about you when I heard about the Rogues.”
“We came in through a tunnel on the north side,” I say.
“I’m glad … you’re safe,” he says, reaching for my hand. Before I realize what’s happening, he leans over, and brushes my cheek softly with his lips.
“Derry!”
I stiffen at the harsh note in Trout’s voice.
“We’ve got an important meeting with Jerome,” he says, gruffly.
Sven smiles as I pull away from him. “I’ll catch up with you at the barn. Tucker’ll be glad to see you. He’s tired of babysitting Sook.” He nods at a scowling Trout and disappears out into the courtyard.
Before Trout has a chance to say anything more, I turn and stride down the corridor to Jerome’s office, my heart racing.
J
erome is hunched
at his desk, a grave expression on his corrugated black face. He jolts to his feet when we walk in, a questioning look in his eye. I dive right in and break the news about Brock, then make my case for leaving right away for the Craniopolis. Trout stands by my side with his arms folded, frowning the entire time. I wish he’d say something to support me. He’s ticked off about what happened with Sven. No doubt Jakob will hear all about it before I’ve had a chance to tell him myself.
“With or without you, I’m leaving tomorrow,” I say, frowning at Jerome. “I can’t risk anything happening to Brock.”
Jerome cracks his knuckles and paces back and forth. “We can’t leave yet. The Undergrounders aren’t ready. And the sentries have spotted more Rogues. A larger group this time. It would be risky to leave the city vulnerable.”
“Then we should send Rummy out to recruit them to go with us.” I bite my bottom lip and stare at Jerome. “Maybe The Ghost’s with them.”
Jerome frowns. “If that’s the case it would save us a two-day hike into the wilderness.”
“And if we give Rummy twenty-four hours to negotiate, that would allow us at least one day to train the Undergrounders.”
Jerome rubs his brow, as if mulling it over. “How many guns did you find?”
I blink, trying to do a rough calculation in my head.
“Twenty-six AR-15’s, twenty-one Glocks, and a bunch of ammo,” Trout pipes up.
I turn to him and raise my brows. I had no idea he’d inventoried everything. He may be a pain in the neck at times, but he’s a stickler for details, and that’s a skill we can use in the days ahead.
“Where are the weapons now?” Jerome asks.
“At the barn,” Trout says. “With Jody.”
Jerome lifts his pistol from his desk and holsters it. “Have the riders bring them to the lot where the Undergrounders are training. We’ll meet there and make our decision after we assess them.”
“Good idea,” I say. “That way we don’t lose any time.” I can’t resist smiling to myself as I make my way to the door. My powers of persuasion worked.
T
here are
close to two hundred Undergrounders spread out over a large empty lot, shooting at targets for the most part, a few practicing hand-to-hand combat maneuvers. I survey the glistening faces seamed in concentration. Some are stiff-backed and flustered, others limber and hollow-faced. Trout and I wander down the line and study the targets they’re shooting at.
“This isn’t going to work,” I mutter to Trout.
“What do you mean?”
“Half of them are a liability with a gun. And there’s no point dragging along anyone who can’t keep up.” I gesture with my chin at the man in front of us, brows drawn together over his bulbous nose, stomach sagging over his pants, He wheezes intermittently as he lines up his shot.
I observe another round of shooting before walking over to Jerome. “There are too many volunteers,” I say. “We need to be able to move efficiently through the Craniopolis. I say we start by getting rid of anyone who can’t shoot straight.” My eyes light on a shooter three targets down, effortlessly riddling the bullseye. “I want to hand pick them, thirty, forty at most.”
Jerome sweeps his eye over the parking lot, then nods, a resolute look on his face. “Make the call.” He stares at me intently. “Then we’ll talk about sending Rummy out to negotiate with the Rogues.”
I spend the next hour or so walking slowly up and down the line of shooters, leaning over their shoulders, discreetly slipping a pebble in the pocket of everyone I’m electing to bring.
Once I’m satisfied with my selections, I let Jerome know. He signals to one of his men to begin rounding up the volunteers. When they’re all assembled, Jerome gestures at me to address them.
I step up on a crate and glance around at their drawn faces. Mason’s words rise up inside me:
They’re all afraid.
They need someone to believe in.
I take a deep breath to calm my own fear. “The mission you have volunteered for is full of unknowns. I can’t guarantee all of us will come back alive, but I know that together we can defeat the monsters who are destroying what’s left of our world. We can begin again—a world for us, and by us. A world without Sweepers.”
A roar erupts from the crowd and the Undergrounders brandish their guns in the air. I raise a hand to settle them back down. “I’m going to divide you into two groups. One will carry out the attack on the Craniopolis, the other will guard the city while we’re gone.” A hush of expectation falls over them. “Those of you with a pebble in your pocket, step to the right,” I say. “The rest of you go to the left.”
The Undergrounders exchange baffled looks, shuffle uncomfortably, then slowly break apart and move into position. When they’re done, three-quarters of them are standing on the left side of the parking lot.
I focus my gaze on them. “Your job is to defend the city while the rest of us are gone. Go home to your families now,” I say, dismissing them with a salute. “You’re done for the day.”
They murmur among themselves for a few moments, then begin drifting off in small groups. The Undergrounders on the right remain silent, eyes forward. A heavy weight of responsibility mantles their faces.
“The rest of you familiarize yourselves with the weapons we brought from the reeducation center,” I say. “Your lives may well depend on your mastery of them.”