by Kelly deVos
Jay checks his watch. “We’ve been out here almost thirty minutes and haven’t seen or heard anything. We need to get to the caves as quickly as possible. That water is nice and shallow. We’ll make much better time walking through it than through that switchgrass.”
“Yeah, but—”
Jay cuts through Navarro’s objection with a curt, “Let’s move out.”
His brusque, military-like demeanor somehow alarms me. Mac and I formulated this plan without knowing what all the possible consequences might be. How it might change us.
I shudder.
Jay splashes into the water. Navarro and I follow behind.
I have to say, I’m enjoying Jay’s plan much more than staying in the grass. The water is cool and clean and comes up to midcalf. Tree branches extend over our heads, forming an arch over the creek. From time to time, Jay steers us around a patch of mossy rocks or brush jutting out of the creek.
Little waves lap against the grass. A frog ribbits. Birds coo and hoot.
It’s...beautiful.
I find myself bringing up the rear with about ten feet in between each of us. My body aches. I’m already exhausted. The M16 weighs over seven pounds, which doesn’t sound like a lot but does get heavy after a while. I wonder how long I should wait before proposing that we stop for water and protein bars.
“This is wrong,” Navarro says, slowing down and waiting for me to catch up.
My gaze darts all over. Through the deep green trees. Up at the darts of blue sky that occasionally appear through tiny breaks in the tree canopy. “I don’t see anything.”
He frowns. “The water. It’s flowing in the wrong direction. It’s moving toward the caves. It can’t possibly be runoff. Plus, look at how fast it’s moving.”
My legs get heavier and heavier as I lift them in and out of the water to keep going. “Maybe we’re walking in the wrong direction? And what difference does it make how the water moves? I don’t get it.”
Navarro pulls the compass from his pocket. “No, we’re going the right way.”
Jay is getting farther and farther ahead of us.
Navarro begins to walk again. “There were a couple of rivers marked on the map.” He continues to stare at the compass. “Rivers run because water is moving from a higher elevation to a lower one. Like snow melting on a mountain and then flowing down, which means...”
He quickens his pace and mutters to himself.
There’s a light breeze, and a lone green leaf sails from a high tree branch, coming briefly to float on the surface of the water near Navarro’s boot. It disappears into the rushing water as he takes his next step.
But he freezes midstride, his boot hovering over the water.
And a second later I understand why.
Whispering.
From the trees.
Navarro turns back to me, his eyes wide with horror.
“Run!” he screams.
I barely manage to avoid falling into the water as I take off at a sprint. Navarro waits until I pass him before also getting into action. Jay’s neck swivels around. Failing to find any targets, he fires his M16 three times into the air. It’s probably designed to be intimidating. He takes off ahead of me.
Behind us, shots ring out, and feet splash into the water.
Someone is chasing us.
The boom of a rifle.
And shooting at us.
Ahead, the stream curves to the right, and Jay disappears from view as he follows it around a thick tree. Navarro has managed to get a few paces in front of me. As he rounds the tree, he skids to a stop.
It’s not hard to see why.
Jay is about twenty feet ahead of us, stopped where the stream ends.
At a cliff.
Navarro was right. The small river was flowing over a formation of jagged black rocks and into a valley. We’re staring at a gulf between two plateaus. Directly across from us is another wall of massive trees that creates a dark, mysterious void.
We can’t cross. We can’t go back.
We are going to die.
I fight off the urge to scream. When has screaming ever helped me?
I can’t help but slip and slide into Navarro, and we both come crashing down into the water with a splash that would be comical were it not for the fact that someone with a gun is chasing us through the jungle. I spin around a couple of times, catching a dizzy glimpse of three men in green fatigues making their way around the corner, coming toward us.
Fast.
It’s The Opposition. It has to be.
“We have to jump!” Jay yells.
Down below, a wide river runs around clusters of dark rocks. There’s no telling how deep the water might be or how sharp the rocks are. “Jump? Are you crazy? We’ll be killed!”
Navarro’s face is turning as green as the trees.
My heart drops into my stomach.
I think he’s afraid of heights.
More shots. One ricochets off a tree trunk about six inches from Navarro and barely misses my left cheek.
Jay groans and tugs me up by my arms, yanking me the way a careless child would treat the doll they received last Christmas.
I’m not sure what I think he’ll do.
But I’m definitely not prepared when he draws me in front of him and gives me a dramatic shove, sending me off the edge of the rocks.
Down. Down. Down.
My stomach lurches and heaves and turns.
Blurry black rocks.
And then.
Splash.
For a second, I’m relieved that the water is deep enough that I don’t break my legs. But that feeling fades as I try to fight my way to the surface. Glimmers of green and blue sparkle above me.
I have to make it.
For Charles.
Frantically pumping my arms, I gasp for a deep breath as I reach the surface. I get one gulp of air before I’m drawn down again by someone else, probably Jay, landing in the water. Making it up again, I drag myself to the bank of the river.
It takes me a minute or so to figure out what in the hell is going on. The three men are on top of the cliff, yelling. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re looking for solid footing.
So they can shoot us.
I shut my eyes for a moment.
I consider using the radio to contact MacKenna. Luckily it’s waterproof and should work, but it took two hours for us to walk here. What would she even be able to do?
In the water, Jay paddles in my direction.
Which leaves Navarro. My heart sinks when I can’t see him, then jumps as he bobs to the surface a second later...but he’s not exactly conscious. He’s got a large, bloody gash on the side of his head, and he’s not swimming.
I jump into the water again. Jay sees Navarro, too, and both of us push ourselves in his direction. I try to wrap Gus’s arm around my shoulder, the way we used to practice in water drills, but I find myself getting sucked down below the surface again.
Jay is way more successful in helping Navarro out of the water.
Gus is semiconscious when the soldiers resume shooting at us.
“We have to move,” Jay croaks.
We each flop one of Navarro’s arms around our shoulder and drag him into the trees that flank the water. He moans and is able to take a few steps. The three of us quicken our pace, making our way as best we can through the wet, grassy jungle.
After a bit, Jay braces Navarro on a tree trunk and releases him.
Panting and gasping for breath, I try to get a look at the cut on Navarro’s head. It seems kind of bad. Like he must have really taken a hit from one of those sharp rocks.
He swats me away. “Ow! Susan! No!”
“Stop it!” I tell him.
I dab at the blood with my finger. I’d be willing to bet
he has a concussion, but he’s standing up and talking now, which is a big improvement.
I leave him alone and poke my head out of the row of trees.
And I see it.
Two deep green eyes staring back at me.
Ojos de Esmerelda.
Two cave entrances sit side by side, each with green light streaming out of them.
I tap Jay on the arm. “We made it.”
In the distance, water splashes.
My pulse picks up again.
The soldiers have decided to pursue us off the cliff.
The three of us break out of the trees and enter the cave on the left for no other reason than the entrance is the closest. We duck into the mouth and squeeze in between a rock formation jutting up from the ground. The run took the last bit of energy Navarro had. He leans over, slouching against the cave wall, with his eyes closed.
Voices echo in from outside the cave.
Jay and I both lost our M16s in the fall. He gives me an encouraging nod. We have to take these guys out. I withdraw the Colt from my side holster.
And. Hold. My. Breath.
Get ready.
We wait. In the cool greenish light of the cave. For the sound of approaching footsteps. Calm settles over me. I’ve dealt with this before. I can do this.
But.
A second later, the cold barrel of a gun presses against my temple.
In my peripheral vision, I spot a tall, broad-shouldered soldier in the same fatigues as the guys from the cliff. But he’s dry. The hostiles, as Navarro had called them, had at least two teams and a much better plan.
We were herded into this cave.
“You just made a big mistake,” the soldier says in a cold, hard tone.
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” another male voice calls out.
The voice comes from a figure silhouetted at the cave’s mouth. “It’s her. That’s Jinx Marshall.”
I’m clutching my Colt so hard that I can’t feel my fingers.
It’s a voice I recognize.
And.
I’m not sure if things have gotten better.
Or worse.
Harold Partridge is one of these hackers who likes to pretend that technology just happens. That it’s neutral or benign. Like if you only build the robot that builds the bomb, you can claim to be surprised by the explosion.
—MacKENNA NOVAK,
Letters from the Second Civil War
MacKENNA
Okay.
Like, once, in second grade, I wrote this book about what it would feel like to be an armchair. I drew all the pictures myself of this green recliner being carted from house to house and having a rad adventure. It was pretty cool, actually, and, of course, the teacher hung it on the wall.
But if I survive all of this—if live to see a world that isn’t one big ole hellfire—well. I’m rewriting the book.
Because now I really know what it feels like to be lugged around like a piece of furniture.
Let me say. It’s not a rad adventure.
I come out of the camper, into the clearing, or whatever you’d call the small space where Dad managed to squeeze the truck. I instantly get nabbed by some tall, beefcake guy who could be twinning with Jinx and Navarro. He’s dressed in green fatigues. I would not be surprised to find out that he’s wearing camo underwear. And, just like Jinx, he seems to be carrying about fifty guns.
LEAD: Quarreling brother and sister captured by The Opposition.
The supersoldier slaps a piece of duct tape across my mouth before I can even scream. He quickly tapes my arms behind my back, binds my feet and carries me away from the camper. Exactly like my imaginary armchair. The guy puts one hand under each of my armpits, lifts me up and holds me an arm’s length away from his body. When we’re in a narrow gap between a couple of trees, he drops me and props me up against a tree trunk.
We wait.
For a sec, I don’t know what the hell is going on.
Some part of me registers that this ought to be terrifying. Like I should be having some kind of reaction. But I’m not. My palms aren’t sweating. My insides don’t jiggle like Jell-O.
I’m probably gonna die as soon as this rainforest rando sorts himself out.
All I can think about is how pissed Jinx is gonna be. If I live, my big reward will be another lecture on drilling. I can almost picture Navarro pacing, nodding and being all broody and disagreeable, while Jinx makes her smug pronouncements.
Leaving the camper without first radioing for help?
Jinx: Mistake.
Leaving the camper without a weapon ready?
Jinx: Mistake.
Going outside, one by one, without any kind of plan?
Jinx: Mistake.
I hate drilling, and I’m not good at it. At all.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
Oh yeah. But, really, this is all Toby’s fault. Right. I’ll tell Jinx that Toby ran off and...
Toby.
Yeah. My brother. I spot his bag near the door of the camper, where he must have dropped it. Crap. Now I really am scared. My palms sweat. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it wants to break out of my body.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
What if these creepazoids hurt my brother?
I shouldn’t have let him go outside alone. I should have paid more attention. He took all that stuff with Annika way harder than I thought. Which is dumb. Annika Carver is nothing but an ornate urn, filled with the ashes of death.
But still. I should have noticed Toby was having trouble.
Okay, MacKenna. Take a breath and...
What would Jinx do?
First, she’d try to get her hands free.
This would be a really awesome time to realize that I’m double-jointed or have superstrength and can rip through the duct tape like the Hulk.
But no.
I’m only me, and being good at collecting pull quotes isn’t a skill that comes in particularly handy right now.
I’m doing a lame job picking at the edges of the tape when some guy yells out, “All clear,” from what sounds like the opposite side of the camper.
The guy comes into the clearing where we’ve parked the camper. Another soldier, like the one who’s holding me. Except the new guy is driving some kinda small vehicle. It’s camo green, and so quiet that it must be electric. It looks like a ruggedized golf cart that was designed by army rangers. The back, where the caddy might sit with the clubs, is loaded with fuel containers and food and...
My brother.
Plopped on the top shelf of the cart.
His hands and feet are taped, too, and he’s been tossed on his stomach on top of a stack of cases of bottled water. Toby squirms around but stops when my gaze catches his. He flops over in defeat.
The first soldier picks me up and carries me to the cart. He dumps me on my butt on a rusted red fifty-gallon steel drum. It reeks of gas.
Both soldiers are white with cropped brownish hair. The one who nabbed Toby is a tad shorter and stockier. My guy is thin and wiry with a wide nose and chapped lips.
“We’re taking them back to base?” Soldier One asks.
“Those are the orders,” Soldier Two says.
Soldier One squints at our camper. “And the truck?”
My guy shrugs. “Leave it for now. We’ll make some decisions as soon as we figure out who these kids are and what they’re doing.”
Soldier One drives the jolly green golf cart while Soldier Two walks in front, selecting a route. We follow the road we came in on for a while before cutting into the trees and the tall grass.
We jiggle and bob, and even my internal organs knock into each other. The scenery is one big blur that I can’t focus on because my eyeballs are basically bouncing around like those craft googly eyes. I
try to brace myself with my hands, which are still tied behind my back. This is a dumb process that accomplishes nothing and makes my thumbs sore.
Toby goes oof every once in a while. Usually when the guy driving steers us over tree roots or through particularly tight clumps of long grass.
Dents in the lid of the steel drum poke and scratch my butt.
“This is a lot of trouble for a bunch of stupid kids,” Soldier Two calls out.
From the driver’s seat, Soldier One snorts. “You didn’t go in that camper. These stupid kids have buckets and buckets full of guns. I stopped counting at seventy-five.”
I’m surprised that you can drive anything through this forest or rainforest or jungle or whatever. But the ATV seems to have been made for this terrain with its big high wheels that turn with ease.
Things are going about as well as they can be when you want to throw up but can’t because your mouth is taped shut. Then. The ATV stops at the sound of three high-pitched pops.
“Shots fired,” Soldier One says in a low voice. He doesn’t bother looking around or checking things out. Which makes me think that the fire isn’t coming from nearby.
Oh. God.
Jinx.
And Navarro.
And Dad.
It has to be.
Oh crap. Crap. Total crap.
I sniff in a few deep breaths through my nose, my nostrils burning from the stench of the gasoline. I have to stay calm. Jinx has been in tough spots before. It’s usually the other guy who ends up getting hurt. I have to believe that they’ll be fine.
Soldier Two reaches for a radio in the inside pocket of his lightweight green jacket. Soldier One taps the vehicle’s horn lightly.
“We have our orders. HQ says radio silence,” Soldier One says.
Soldier Two rolls his eyes.
More shots ring out.
Soldier Two climbs into the ATV. “Let’s get a move on.”
More gunfire.
And shouting.
Soldier One drives faster.
We come to the edge of a cliff. Looks kinda like Team Supersoldier took a wrong turn. I want to scream as Soldier One drives the vehicle...
