“You’ve thought of everything,” Dad says.
“That remains to be seen.” I mentally cross my fingers.
The shouts rumbling down the stairs have me pulling on my boots with rapid speed. I can just make out the whooshing sound of a fire extinguisher.
Dad takes all the bottles of pills and tucks them into the backpack pockets. I attach my new knife to the belt loop of my trousers. A flush of confidence warms my skin.
“Let’s move,” I say once we’re both laced up.
I lead the way, jogging along the raised platform that flanks the swirling stench and murky water. I hold the flashlight high, illuminating a few yards ahead.
Dad pants behind me. “Slow down, Silver!”
“We don’t have time to slow down!” I call over my shoulder.
“You’re running so fast your feet are a blur.”
I slow my pace. The stench hits me anew and I gag, wishing I’d sprayed the bandana with Mom’s perfume or something. The reek of feces and piss fills my nostrils and forces its way down my throat.
Up ahead, the beam of my flashlight catches a glimpse of something scurrying on the opposite raised walkway.
“What was that?” I tiptoe to the edge of the platform.
I sweep the beam over the far wall. Nothing moves. But twin glints of light appear in the darkness.
“Rats,” Dad says when he catches up with me.
“I hate rats.” I swing the beam back and forth and count eight sets of gleaming eyes along the tunnel.
Dad shakes his head. “Not just any kind of rats. All the failed nanites we made in the lab”—he looks up at the dripping ceiling—“well, they all ended up down here. Ingested by the rats.”
I raise an eyebrow, not taking my eyes off the creatures. “You telling me we might have bulk rats down here?”
Dad nudges my elbow and we start walking. “Maybe, or worse.”
“How big do you think they might be?” I shine the flashlight into the distance.
Dad tilts his head. “Unclear.” The patch of wall beside him glistens in the cone of light. Green moss seeps down the concrete wall and shimmers with crawling mold.
“Great,” I mutter, just as something brushes against my leg. Stifling a scream, I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
A square of light shines in the distance, back the way we’ve come, followed by the hulking shadow of a bulk. They’ve opened the door to the sewer. Flashlights flick on.
Something big and hairy winds through my legs and makes me stumble. Dad’s fingers brush my arm, but then he’s falling. He splashes into the water. The scurrying of several pairs of claws flies down the tunnel, getting louder, and glowing eyes emerge from the water. For all we know, the rats may have turned amphibious.
“Dad! Get out of there!” I hold out a hand to him, teetering on the edge. “The army are here!”
Instead, he wades through the water to the other side of the tunnel. I maintain pace with him, keeping my beam focused on the advancing pupils in the water. They come faster and faster, no longer concealing their own movements.
There are a couple of splashes as dark shadows with glowing teeth jump into the water behind him. A whipping tail stretches all the way across the water and slices through the cuff of my trousers.
“Dad!” My foot skids on something slick and my legs go in different directions. I get my hands in front of me just before I hit the ground, but the flashlight cracks, goes out, and rolls away.
Violent splashing comes from the water. Dad yells. I can barely see in the dim light. I duck as the whipping tail snaps back toward me and rolls into the water. Eyes glare at us from the ledge. Dad and I wade to the side as fast as we can and pull each other out, but there’s a welcoming party.
Rats. Giant and mutated. Some of them have teeth longer than my fingers. Others have whipping tails, six legs, two heads, bulk skin. I spot one with seven eyes. The monstrous chimeras are endless, and I shudder at the hidden abilities they may have. They scurry together in streams of sinuous movement. Drool drips from their yellow teeth onto their matted fur. Others stop and stare at us, waiting.
The rats squeal and stretch open their jaws. A great boom deafens my left ear and a flash of red light streaks toward the angry swarm, followed by a cloudy trail. The air fills with smoke, then the rats turn tail and scurry away.
A red light bobs in the water. My father holds the flare gun.
He grabs my hand. “Are you OK?”
“For now.”
Bright eyes glare at me from the depths of the tunnel.
I tug Dad’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
The chatter of walkie-talkies echo. I hope we can outrun them. I’ve spent hours committing the sewer tunnels to memory, but the bulk guards will hopefully be stumbling blind, lost in a twisting maze of excrement. The thought brings a smile to my lips. Rats might not pierce their armored skin, but they’ll be able to slow the guards down, maybe buy us some time.
“This way.” I hold out a hand, and Dad leans on me as he sweeps a leg over an iron barrier that extends into the water. Solid lumps cling to the mesh as the grate disappears into the water. The stench intensifies, and I push the bandana against my nose.
“Do you know the way?” Dad asks.
I free the compass from my pocket. “We follow the tunnels south.”
For the next half hour, we jog through the humid tunnels. Sometimes the water laps at the sides, and we wait for a moment, breaths held, to see if a new monstrosity will emerge. Other times we hear the scurrying of the enlarged rats on our heels or up ahead. Occasionally their large shadows loom on the far wall and we duck into an alcove to catch our breaths while waiting for them to pass. The odd shout of a guard weaves through the tunnels, sometimes stopping me in my tracks, but every corner we round is mercifully clear. My fingers ache around the hilt of the knife, and my chest is tight from shallow breaths.
A half hour later, as we turn the corner of another tunnel, a gust of wind cools the sweat on the nape of my neck and plucks at the damp strands of hair. Muted sunlight filters in through a huge iron grate. Fresh air creeps under my sodden bandana.
“We made it,” I say, slowing down.
Dad and I reach the metal grate. Over eight feet in diameter, water covers the bottom foot, flowing along a channel and down a drain that leads to a nearby treatment center.
I place a hand at the corner of the grate and push. It moves an inch before grinding to a clanging stop.
“What the…?”
“It’s padlocked.” Dad sweeps his hands around the circumference of the grate. “Several times.”
But I’ve prepared for this. I slide my backpack to the ground and dig around for the bolt cutters. Scurrying feet echo down the tunnel behind us. Numerous pairs.
“Get it off me!” someone shouts, followed by the report of five gunshots.
“Hurry!” Dad hisses.
I open the bolt cutter’s jaws and snap one of the padlocks, then a second and third. Within seconds I’ve cleared a big enough space for us to climb through.
“Quick. The rats.” I turn.
Wasting no time, Dad and I push the grate back in place. It might not hold a flurry of them, but it’ll give us a head start. And it might fool the bulk guards if we can get out of here without them seeing us.
With the knife in my hand, I turn to face the noonday sun.
The street ahead is littered with ogre soldiers.
One of the ogres, tall and green, his facial warts gleaming in the sun, stands at the nearest corner. An assault rifle hangs loose across his chest while his eyes lock on something in the distance. They’re similar to trolls, but taller and stronger with a slightly higher IQ. More suited to covert military operations.
Dad stands and scans the edge of the tunnel. “It’s ten more blocks to the forest. There’s a sentry stationed at each corner. That’s ten more ogres or bulks to contend with.”
A headache pulses in my temples. “Shit.�
� I take a swig of water and rinse out my mouth. I suck in deep breaths, glad to be away from the stench of the sewers. If I inhale deep enough, I swear I can discern the faint scent of pine needles from the forest. And rain. It must have rained while we were dashing through the sewers.
Dad delves into a pocket in the backpack, yanking it down against my shoulders. “I have pills that will make the journey relatively easy.”
“Pills? What kind of pills?”
“Temporary nanites.” He removes a bottle and shakes out two round pills.
“Temporary? Is that even possible?”
“Of course. I’d never harm your DNA permanently.”
I set down the backpack and circle my shoulders. “What is it?”
“Invisibility. From a cephalopod,” he says with some pride. “Extraordinary creatures. The kings of camouflage. Effectively, we will appear to blend in with the background, no matter how fast we move. It’s about ninety-five percent effective, so our eyes may be visible. We’ll want to keep our heads down. The nanite doesn’t last long, so we’ll have to be fast and fight the tiredness that the change brings.”
“How on earth did you manage that? Actually, I don’t want to know.” I take the pill and hold it in my palm, hesitating. Then I swallow it dry. It catches in my throat, and I gulp a couple of times to drag it lower.
I’ve just taken a nanite, the very thing I thought I was running from.
“Do we have to take our clothes off or something?”
“That depends.” Dad fingers our new clothing, rubbing the material. “Where did you buy it?”
“Camper’s Outlet. Why?” My boots blur out of existence.
Dad grins. “Perfect. They’re the primary sellers of bio-tech clothing.”
I frown. “Meaning?”
“Everything they make pairs with your DNA. In other words, it will do what your body does.”
My mouth drops open.
“Don’t you remember that science teacher you had in middle school?” Dad closes the pill bottle and sticks it in the backpack.
“The one with the snake-effect clothing?”
Dad clicks his fingers. “That’s the one. She took a snake nanite, and the scales were reflected on her clothes.”
“I always thought she just liked snake-patterned blouses.” I examine my boots; both have disappeared. A heavy tiredness weighs down my limbs. “How does that even work?”
“There are more things in heaven and earth…” Dad grabs my elbow and nudges me along the drainage channel.
I finish the familiar quote. “…than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
We edge out of the shallow drainage ditch. To my left, suburbia has diminished to nothing more than a few patches of disused land and a crumbling billboard advertising conch-shaped heels. Permanent ones, grown from your own skin and bone, with just one pill and a quick sip of water from the city’s finest reservoir. To my right, the city’s towering skyscrapers glint under the noonday sun.
I look back at my dad, but he’s disappeared. My heart beats faster.
Then something grabs my wrist.
“This way.”
“I didn’t realize it would work so fast.” I look down. All of me is gone now. It feels… weird. Like I’ve been scrubbed out of existence. Except I can hear my breathing and feel my heartbeat.
A bulk soldier reaches the grate, eyes the padlocks and gives the fence a push. It falls over.
Dad and I run. I will my tired legs to move faster, fighting against the sapped energy the pill’s change has brought about.
The earthiness of the recent rainfall weaves into my nostrils. Lungs burning, I gulp the air greedily. The tree line is so close I can almost smell the forest’s wildflowers.
We dodge new puddles which reflect nothing more than the punishing sun. Another few blocks and we’ll be in the forest. We turn a corner, and I almost smack into an ogre. I take a quick step back, splashing into a puddle. I stand rooted. Please don’t turn around.
Too late.
As Dad tugs me away from the puddle, my wet footprints leave a trail on the drying asphalt. The ogre swivels toward us. The spikes and horns attached to his skull glint in the sun as he walks the perimeter of the puddle. He raises his gun.
When his finger twitches on the trigger, I know I have to make a move.
I leap toward the menacing soldier, my karate training kicking in. The rifle swivels in an arc, not sure where to aim, and releases a shot that skims past my right calf. Before the ogre can pull the trigger again, I jump-kick the hell out of his brains. He drops the rifle, which swings from its strap around his shoulder. His eyes roll as he falls to both knees then faceplants the asphalt. His stubby neck judders with the impact.
I land in a crouch, catching my breath.
I point to the ogre. “We can’t leave him alive.” My slick fingers wrap around the hilt of my knife.
“I’ll do it.” Dad takes the knife from me and kneels by the ogre. In my head, I count to three, then Dad presses the blade to the back of the ogre’s neck. After another three seconds, he rams the knife into its spinal cord. It twitches once.
I turn my head and swallow the bile that’s risen. A ribbon of blood trickles out of the ogre’s neck.
“You OK?” Dad looks a little green himself.
I nod, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Increasing our pace, I’m careful not to step in any more puddles. The darkness and safety of the forest loom before us, but as we near the tree line I notice my boots are visible.
“Dad, my boots.” I panic. If an ogre comes this way, we’ll be seen.
There’s a short pause. “I don’t see any more ogres.”
The relief pours out of me in a shuddery breath.
We scramble a good twenty yards into the forest and collapse on a fallen tree trunk. I buckle, wishing I’d spent more time on the apartment’s dusty exercise machines. I push away damp strands of loose hair from my ponytail, then we change out of our reeking clothes into fresh ones. I eat a protein bar, hoping it will replace the energy the pill sapped away. Dad swigs his water, sweat streaming down his face. Helicopter blades thud in the distance. A siren blares.
“We need to keep moving.” Dad holds out his hand. I take one last glance at the distant city—the city I grew up in, the only home I’ve ever known: its towering, glinting skyscrapers, high-rise apartment buildings, museums, art galleries, theatres, and the green of the park in the center of it all. A helicopter rises from behind a dark rectangle of a building and points its nose toward the forest.
I back into the ferns. “We need to run.”
I dash deeper into the forest, the branches whipping my cheeks and roots pulling at my feet as Dad struggles alongside me. I misjudge the height of a large root and land flat on my face. Dirt claws up my nose. Something tickly creeps over my hand.
I push myself to a sitting position, rolling the impact out of my wrist. Through a gap in the trees, the distant red light of the helicopter flashes and banks away from the forest. Dad helps me up and we push our way through the undergrowth.
As I walk, I sip water, but the humid forest evaporates it just as quickly as I drink it. After a while, the light diminishes and the sun falls behind the trees. The moon rises, full and bright, but I still can’t see much in the shadows. I stop and drop the backpack on the ground.
“Here.” Dad hands me a pill. “Night vision. Should last a few days.”
“Another one?”
Dad grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “We need it.”
“I’m tired enough as it is.” I hold my side, working the kinks out of a stitch.
“Me too,” Dad says. “But we’ll make much better progress.”
As I slip the pill in my mouth and swallow it with a sip of water, Dad tells me it was harnessed from an animal’s DNA. It will help us see at night but won’t affect our day vision. Nothing as tacky as those night vision cameras that are useless as soon as someone turns a light on.
> Within five minutes I can see as well as if it were day. A fox prowls behind a clump of ferns. Bats fly from tree to tree while a raccoon skitters across a well-worn path.
“Well, that makes things easier.” I push myself to my feet.
Chuckling, Dad slings the backpack over his shoulders.
Using a compass, we press deeper into the woods. Thick branches block the moonlight, and the rich scent of wet leaves expunges the memory of the sewers. Wolves’ howls echo through the forest, creating chills on my spine. I wince as every footfall crunches and rustles, reverberating around the trees.
Then I hear distant howling again, maybe a couple of miles away. The eerie cries carry on the humid night.
I pause to listen, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Those wolves: are they real or modified?”
Dad pauses too. “Either, both. I don’t know.”
He turns abruptly and scans the immediate area as another howl pierces the night, this time much closer. Others join in.
I hover by his side. “Do we need to be worried?”
Two types of wolves run in these woods. The real ones don’t usually pose a threat, but recently they’ve found themselves in competition for territory with their altered counterparts. The altered wolves are bigger, stronger, and faster. Originally human, many of them have left their city lives behind. They fancy themselves heroes of their own ridiculous werewolf movies. Their aggression depends purely on the type of human they are or were. With several unarmed unadjusteds fleeing through the woods, we could be easy prey.
Another howl ripples through the forest. A lash of fear grips the back of my neck, an icy contrast to the humidity. I look back the way we came, craving the familiarity of the city.
“Keep your eyes open.” Dad’s Adam’s apple bobs a few times.
Something rustles in a bush nearby, and I startle. Dad clamps a hand over my mouth.
We both wait, turning in a circle. His heart pounds against my back and races my own.
Nothing emerges. But we back away slowly, keeping our eyes on a bush that sways in a different direction from the wind.
The Unadjusteds Page 4
