Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter 22

RETTER

Ret’s twisted body felt no better, but no worse either, as they hunched and crawled. How long had they been moving? Thirty minutes? A few hours? He had no idea. Not only was his sense of direction skewed in this tangle of vents, but the passage of time was as well. Outside he had markers. Placement of the sun. Shifting of the breeze. Air temperature. The calls of the wild. Day passed in increments marked by change. And always ended in night. By contrast, in here it was always night. Or day, depending on how you looked at it.

For the time being, he had shut down the loud voice in his brain that ached for fresh outdoor water.
Visions of the river and memories of the sweet mulberry juices trickling down his throat had perpetuated a maddening thirst. At one point, he’d even entertained thoughts of prematurely slaking his thirst
. All you have to do is exit this tunnel and head to the water huts.

Ret shook his head and cleared his throat. “How we doing, Pete?” His voice had taken on the same raspy quality of Pete’s and Wolf’s.

“Getting closer.” Pete wheezed. “Not sure if you noticed, but the air is warmer now—that’s when we know we’ve entered the East side.” Pete coughed. “The East Siders get to sweat a little more than the rest.”

“Really? Why?”

“Energy consumption and family coin.”

Coin.
Wolf had mentioned that in passing. No one could see it, touch it, or even knew how it worked. You either had it, or you didn’t. Ret watched his hands as they slapped down in front of him. One after another. Lit by the Ninja on his head, and covered in the black dust of the vents. Even the grime lining the tunnel walls had worth. Yet now, people were measured by something that didn’t even exist? Ret shook his head trying to make sense of it all.

“And the kids?”

Pete laughed. “Just another drain on the Council’s precious resources.”

Ret’s collar scratched at his raw neck. “But aren’t they the future of the city?”

“Not these ones. They’re orphans, Ret. If they had any coin to their name, they wouldn’t have ended up in the ICS in the first place.”

Ret sensed some bitterness in his tone. “What about you, Pete? Are your folks still around?”

Pete blew out a breath with a
sheesh.
“No, man, only one person holds what’s left from our fund.”

A beat of silence followed.

“A sister who’d been promised the family coin and had considered it hers until this little accident came along.” Pete thumped his chest.

Could Pete’s own flesh and blood really want him dead just for this invisible coin? Ret cringed at the absence of family loyalty. However, there was another hope.

“Do you want to see them again? Your parents?”

He hacked out a gravelly laugh. “Never even been on my radar. They were gone long before I had formed any real connection or lasting memories. I don’t suppose I’d even be able to pick them out in a crowd. I came late—a midlife afterthought. An ‘oops,’ you might say.” His voice trailed off. “Eliza. She’s the single person I remember as family.” Pete hacked again. “For whatever
that’s
worth.”

“Things are different outside, Pete. No coin. No battles.”

Pete slapped at Ret’s boot. “Sounds a little too good to be true.”

In the shadowed tunnel, the corners of Ret’s mouth twitched as he considered what, or rather
who
, awaited Pete on the outside. Although not 100% certain, he thought he saw an inkling of resemblance to one of the villagers. And if he was right, it would be quite the reunion.

Ret wiped sweat from his forehead as they continued their silent crawl, each lost in their own world of thoughts. 

Without warning, a howling sound broke through the hush and screeched along the pipe. The shrillness sent heat down Ret’s spine and a tingle into the bottoms of his feet. He jerked upright hitting his head with a thud. The Light Ninja careened and plunked onto the floor as deep vibrations echoed along the wall of the tunnel. Ret rubbed his head with one hand as he fished around for the light with the other. “What in the world …?”

Pete didn’t respond and Ret maneuvered around until he found Pete doubled over and holding his gut. His body shook.

“Pete?”

Ret scrambled over and grabbed Pete by the shoulder. “You alright?”

“Oh, man.” Pete coughed out between breaths. “Sorry, but that was
hysterical
. How’s the old noggin?”

Ret stared at Pete. “What
was
that?”

Pete labored to catch his breath and then swiped at his runny nose. “Aw nothing. Just one of the precious kiddos. I’m guessing maybe a nightmare?”

Ret dropped his hold on Pete and turned back around. He noticed a weak stream of light entering the shaft a dozen feet up ahead. He scurried forward and peeked through the grating. The long room looked like nothing more than an extra wide corridor. A row of small beds lined up against the far wall with tightly tucked linens giving the edges a razor sharp appearance. Ret scrutinized the shadowy room and counted five of the beds with lumpy centers. He assumed that was where the orphans slept. He scanned the beds again, looking for more life hidden within the murky shadows but still counted a sparse five.

“This is the dormitory,” Pete whispered. Ret had been so transfixed on the room he hadn’t even noticed Pete’s proximity until hot breath penetrated his ear.

“Are there others? Dormitories?”

“Well, of course, back in the day, they had separate boys’ and girls’ dorms, but I heard they all bunk together now. Saving resources, you know.”

“But I only count five children.”

“Yep. Not too many Eastsiders having kids nowadays.”

“Wow.” Ret ran a hand through the air near the corner of the mesh and waited for the holographic keypad to materialize.

Pete choked back a laugh. “No. That’s not how it’s done over here.”  He moved Ret to the side and attempted to pry the grating off the opening. “Dang. This one’s a tight fit.”

Ret tapped Pete on the shoulder and handed him his whittling knife. “See if this will do it.”

Seconds later, Pete popped off the grating and lowered it to the floor. Although he tried to place it gingerly, the metal clattered during its half-foot free fall. Ret saw one of the bundles shoot upright on his bed, and the sound that had sent Ret’s nerves on edge in the shaft resonated through the room.

Pete hopped out of the vent and moved to the bed. He picked up a wide-eyed boy and whispered something into his ear. Ret had no idea what he’d said, but a moment later, both Pete and the boy were giggling.

With caution, Ret eased himself out of the vent and moved to where Pete sat with the boy in his lap. Their eyes met and the child seemed intrigued. Dark eyes, fringed with thick lashes, glistened with fresh tears and scrutinized Ret’s appearance.

“Are you really Superman?”

Ret smiled. “What do you think?”

“Pete said you can show me my mommy.”

“Is that what you want?”

The child’s head bobbed with enthusiasm and his sleepy bedtime hair added punctuation as it danced on top of his head.

Ret placed a hand onto his wild locks and gave an extra tousle.  “Let’s wake up your friends. We’re
all
going to see our mommies.”

Chapter 23

FRAN

Fran swung the rope high overhead. A pinging announced contact with her target. The slack rope told her it hadn’t held.

Beads of sweat lined her forehead and dripped into her eyes, burning and blurring her vision. She’d practiced this over and over again with Ret back at camp. However, snagging a protruding tree limb proved a lot easier than nailing the obscured pipe on the Impervious rooftop.

She blew out a wheezy, hot lungful of air and again recoiled the rope. While hiking through the shaded forest rehydrating, her cloudy head had begun to clear. However, the last half hour in the fading sun coupled with physical labor and irritation, had sent her head swimming again. Not to mention her arms felt like the wiggly gelled desert they served back in school.

Fran moved into the shade of the structure and sat with her back against the rigid wall. The metal felt cool and she turned her head to press a cheek onto its slick surface. She closed her eyes, needing a reboot, for sure. After allowing her mind to go blank and maybe even dozing off for a quick second, she returned to the present frustration of needing to get onto the roof.

In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the pipe jutting out from the corrugated shiny wall, pictured hitting her target, and watched the rope wrap itself around the metal conduit. It seemed simple enough in her mind. She opened her eyes, slugged back some more water, and then returned to her inner sanctum and performed the perfect launch over and over again. She continued to sip and watch the perfect launch in her mind. After resting her body for another few minutes, she felt the nudge to try again.

She stood, allowed a moment for the landscape to steady, grasped the long loop of rope with one hand and the tail with the other. She wound up for the launch and released, just as Ret had taught. The rope whistled through the air and the weighted end clinked onto its target. She gave it a yank. It stuck.

Yes!

She swiped sweaty palms onto her sides and sized up the length of dangling rope. If she was able to jump and grip high enough, she’d only have to climb for a few feet, which wasn’t outside of her physical abilities on a normal day.
Right?

She squatted low, drew in a deep breath, and launched skyward with arms reaching overhead. The rope singed her hands as she gripped the prickly surface. She wriggled her body and hugged the scratchy length with her bare legs. Her head swam with fever-laced adrenaline and the thorny bristles cut into her palms. She bit into her bottom lip, and her arms shook.

One hand over the other.

Stars danced before her eyes as she inched her way up.

When she crested, nose-to-the-wall and eyes peeking over the ledge, a vibration emitted from the metal, buzzing her palms through the rope.

Her heart picked up a beat. The humming of the elevator within the structure acted as a warning. Fran set her jaw, determined to make it to the rooftop before the portal doorway opened below. She wiggled and undulated, gripped and pulled until she managed to flop over the edge, and yanked the rope up behind her. Her breath came in short gasps. She closed her eyes and scrambled to the opening that led to the Impervious airway, opening them only to peer into the darkness below.

And jumped.

She moved along with the rushing air toward the fan. The roar grew more intense until she sat at the mouth of the fan, and fragmented light spilled in from the other side.

Please stop. Please stop.

As if the machine understood her urgency, the roar of the motor ceased. The fan continued to spin in silence, losing speed with each rotation as it delivered gentle pulsations of air to the other side. Although she could now make out each individual blade, she didn’t dare crawl through until the knife-like paddles came to a complete halt. On the far side, however, the elevator began to hum indicating the return of the Superiors.

She couldn’t wait.

Fran bound the rope around her hand, sucked in a breath and reached out to block the blades on their final rotation. As a moving flange thumped her hand, air hissed through her clenched teeth. Pain soared from her hand all the way to her shoulder. She hugged her hand to her waist as the fan slowed to a standstill. She balled her throbbing hand into a fist, maneuvered through the opening, and clamored the last few feet before launching from the opening.

She landed onto the hard floor with a thud and a wince. With white hot spots dancing in her vision, Fran scrambled to her feet. She found the vent opening located just where she’d left it a few weeks ago and dove into the familiar hole.

The air reeked of chemicals and stale electricity. The familiarity filled her with repulsion. Was her head spinning? With the absence of light, she couldn’t know for sure. Her hands reached for the slick, grime-covered walls and with eyes wide open, she flailed and struggled to grab the curved metal.

Finally, the movement seemed to abate and her heart rate calmed. She laid her cheek onto the hard, metal surface. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. Her lungs ached and her skin felt like fire had been lit on its surface.

The Beast seemed to hover in her midst. She squeezed her eyes tight and Ret’s face danced in her mind.
“Stay hydrated.”

Obeying his instruction from somewhere in the past, she reached for her pack and took a long drag from its contents. After resealing the opening, she laid her head back onto the floor of the tunnel. It felt good to rest. Her breath slowed and she willed herself to her knees and began to crawl. On autopilot, she traversed the periphery of the Ranch, eased down the step-like chute, not pausing until she’d reached the sixth floor.

Ted lived on the sixth floor. Thoughts of her brother danced in her brain and she remembered his wide eyes of disbelief as they’d shared their last meal.

Memories tumbled through her brain, fresh and alive in her old digs.

Pete. On the stage of the Agora shouting,
“Go back.”

She remembered the rustling of Ret’s crinkled Canvies as he moved away from the camp with Doc and Chan the day before.

She had to find them all, and felt pulled in three separate directions. How could she possibly decide? She grit her teeth at the notion that she even had to make a decision. It sparked a fire that she thought had died.

Fran’s old survival method kicked in, and she slammed the door on her emotions. Her body moved on its own accord.

When she arrived at her old sleeping niche, she found her Light Genie had disappeared, but her old canvas blanket greeted her like a long lost friend. She curled into the darkness and draped the sheath over her shoulders. She needed a plan.

While considering her options, Fran rubbed the cloth between her fingers. Soft like cotton. She put her cheek on the stale-smelling blanket, grateful it hadn’t changed.

Then she leaned her head against the bulwark.

Her lids drooped and her breath slowed until the silence consumed her.