“We run the risk of burying the hostages,” Ethan says.
But I have been studying the elevator, and my thoughts have been running along the same lines. “We don’t knock it down,” I say. “We pull it over. Carefully. In the direction of our choosing.”
“We could topple it into that empty lot,” Phillips suggests.
Ethan strides over to the window. “What do you propose?”
“What’s holding this building up?” I ask. “The lift mechanism, correct? Some kind of vertical conveyor system that scooped the grain and carried it to the chute at the top.”
“It’s called a leg,” the first Greencoat offers.
“If we fastened a cable to the top of the leg, we could use leverage and gravity to pull it over.”
Phillips backs me up. “One AV could do it.”
“And just how do you propose we get the cable attached?” Ethan asks.
I grin and start singing a silly song Opal used to sing to us. “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout…” At their blank expressions, I point to the spout that once poured grain into the trucks waiting to receive it. It runs down the wall from the top of the building and angles outward near the bottom. “Someone scales that handy pipe and climbs in the cupola window.”
The constable comes over to peer at the elevator and visualize my plan. “That spout hangs ten feet off the ground, and it wouldn’t hold a single one of my men, miss, even if they could reach it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of your men.”
It takes two or three seconds for my meaning to sink in. He blinks in surprise. “You?”
I roll my eyes. I think Ethan and I are both seriously threatening Langston’s ego.
Ethan is studying me hard.
“It’s nowhere near an entrance,” I prompt. “If you create a diversion, and if I leap from the top of an AV at the base of the wall, they’ll never see me.”
“It might work,” Ethan muses.
Langston hoists his pants and crosses his arms in a show of authority. “Now just a minute. Let’s talk this through before we—”
Ethan isn’t intimidated. He interrupts him decisively. “Constable Langston, we’ll need you to secure two armored vehicles and a length of cable, strong but lightweight. Fifty yards should do it.”
The constable’s face darkens to red, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. “This is a blame fool idea, son,” he mutters as he presses a button on his holoband.
Ethan smiles at me grimly. “We’ll see.”
It takes twenty minutes for the vehicles to arrive. During that time, Phillips pulls me aside. “The leg is encased in a metal shell that runs from the pit to the top of the elevator. You can speak into it and the sound will funnel directly into the pit. If the girls are still there, you can confirm their location and let them know what’s happening.”
Another ten minutes, and I am crouched in the back of one AV with Phillips, a length of cable around my shoulders, awaiting Ethan’s signal. The other vehicle will create the diversion by driving right up to the front door while we circle the building. We have sharpshooters in place to watch doors and windows and return any fire the commotion might provoke. In the meantime, I’ll leap from the circling AV onto the spout, climb to the top, tie off the cable, and descend posthaste while someone below fastens the cable to the chassis of the vehicle. Then the driver pulls down the building, we take the men prisoner, and we rescue the girls.
That’s the plan, anyway.
I see Ethan circle to the various stations, double-checking, making sure all is in order. He meets my eye as he approaches the AV. “Ready?”
I flash him a thumbs-up.
He pauses, brow furrowed like he has something on his mind, but he just says, “Be careful.” And then he waves us out.
The AV leaps beneath us like a waking beast. It’s a massive thing that shook the earth when it first approached. Now I can feel that power surging up through the soles of my feet. It invigorates me. My headache retreats. My nerves steady. I wait for Phillips to open the door.
The elevator nears. I can hear bullets pinging off the armor plating. “Ready?” the driver calls back to me. “We’re almost under the spout.”
I straighten as much as I’m able and flex my fingers. “Ready.”
“Open the door!”
The hatch levers up. I swing toward the ladder holds and climb to the top of the vehicle. We are not moving quickly, but the AV pitches over the uneven surface. I balance on the balls of my feet, knees bent, waiting for the right moment.
I spring and catch a solid grasp on the angled spout. It groans alarmingly and sways with my momentum. But it holds. I hang beneath the pipe, clinging with my legs and pulling myself upward hand over hand. The spout shifts with every movement, threatening to buck me to the ground far below. I adjust the cable so it hangs down my back and get a firmer grip. Within twenty seconds I have reached the wall. The pipe is more solidly attached here and I begin shimmying upward, climbing like a squirrel.
I ignore the sound of gunfire erupting around me. I don’t look down or peer through the holes in the wall. I keep my entire focus upward, willing my muscles to keep working, keep pulling.
When I reach the top, eight feet remain between the point where the spout angles into the building and the bottom of the window. Carefully, I shift my weight to the aging wood. Missing boards create plenty of handholds. I test each one before committing to it, staying close to the support beam where the cross laths might be stronger. Inch by careful inch, I keep moving upward.
As I reach the window, the board I’m standing on gives way. I yelp and suddenly find myself dangling by my fingertips from a windowsill that groans under my weight. I scramble for purchase, catching my right foot against a ridge. I have no way to judge its soundness. With every ounce of strength in my leg, I hurl myself upward, throwing an arm over the sill and catching it with my elbow. I yank the wreath of cable from my neck and drop it inside. No one can hear it over the racket of firearms. Then I pull my other elbow around and drag myself over the sill.
Inside, I slump to the floor, shaking from the exertion.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the gloom. I sit just beneath the roof on a wooden loft that overlooks the grain bins below. The floor has boards missing, so I can see all the way down to the ground seventy-five feet below. Stairs access the loft, winding upward around the elevator’s perimeter. And across the room, the leg rises up through the floor to a distributor that once routed grain into the bins below. Cautiously I stand, scoop up my cable, and pick my way over the rotting floor.
I stick my head inside the leg and call down the shaft. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
Far below, I hear a thin reply. “Help! We’re being held captive down here!”
“I know. We’re here to get you out. Can you tell me how many men are in the building?”
“Nine.”
“All right, hold tight a few more minutes and keep your heads down. We’re going to pull the elevator over. After we round up the criminals, we’ll be back for you.”
I unwind the cable, weave it in and out among the steel frame holding the leg in place, and fasten it securely. Then I re-cross the groaning floor, playing out the cable as I go. At the window, I drop it to the ground. Then I ease myself outside and wrap the wire around my leg, letting myself down as quickly as I dare.
I’m nearly to the ground when the AV careens around the corner of the building and jolts to a halt. Phillips leaps out the hatch and fastens the dangling cable to the chassis. “Nice work,” he calls as we both dive inside.
The door slams behind us and the driver calls out, “Hold on!” He creeps forward until we feel the cable go taut, then he slams the gears into low and guns the engine. The vehicle grinds forward.
Behind us, we hear a terrible screech of metal as a piece of Latham City history wrenches apart and crashes to the ground with a horrific splintering of wood.
Immediately, Greencoats an
d Lowers rush into the ruins to extract anyone who survived.
I crouch on the floor of the stationary vehicle. My part is done.
A searing pain suddenly rips through my skull. I scream, clutching my head.
“Are you all right, miss?” Phillips lays a hand on my shoulder. “Miss?”
Blinding light blasts my eyes, each flash accompanied by another jolt of agony. I drop to the floor, writhing, fingers clenched around my skull.
“Go get Captain Potts,” I hear the driver say. The hatch opens, sunlight plays over my skin, then it slams down and I am alone.
I lay there moaning, still gripping my head. The pain has eased, but something begins to stir within me. It needles. It compels. It forces me to my feet.
The mission must be completed.
The people must be replenished.
The culture must move forward.
The thoughts file through my brain, not in words but in impulses. Clear and demanding. I fling the hatch open and stagger outside.
“Miss? Are you all right?” the driver asks. “Miss, maybe you should wait till the captain comes.”
Mission. People. Culture.
The impulse drives me forward. Back toward the elevator, now laying in a splatter of broken wood and twisted metal. Something’s gone wrong. I must correct it. I must do all I can to see the mission through to completion.
Mission. People. Culture.
I see men digging through the wreckage. Other men being carried away. And there! The girls are being helped out of the pit one by one. I redirect my steps. I have them in my sights.
The mission. The people.
From the corner of my eye, I see Ethan and Berg accompanying Phillips. They begin jogging toward me, cutting me off from the pit. I stumble forward faster.
Ethan calls to me. I know his voice. I know we have been friends. It seems so insubstantial now. A thing of no consequence. All that matters is the call. The drive. The mission.
I pull my pistol from its holster and cock it.
“Jack?” Ethan calls. “What are you doing? Jack, stop.”
He steps in front of me. I aim the gun at his chest.
Mission. People. Culture.
He lifts his hands, backs up a step. Wary now. And confused. “Jack, it’s me. It’s Ethan.”
My eyes narrow. “Get out of my way, Ethan.”
I try to go around, but he takes another step forward, directly into my path. “Jack, I—”
I cannot be stopped. I must move forward. My other hand comes up to steady my aim.
I pull the trigger.
TWENTY-THREE
Berg hits me like a freight train, and I am crushed between the ground and his body. The breath whooshes out of me. The gun flies from my hands and tumbles across the ground, coming to a stop at Phillips’ feet. He picks it up and levels it at me while Berg drags me upright, pinning my arms to my sides.
“Put the gun down,” Ethan demands.
I can hardly breathe, but I thrash in Berg’s arms. “Let me go!” I snarl.
Berg holds me easily. He sounds completely bewildered. “What’s the matter with her?”
“I think she caught whatever is infecting and changing these men,” Ethan says.
“It’s catching?”
“Only if you’re genetically predisposed.” Ethan reaches a hand out to touch my face. I can see the worry in his eyes. “Jack?”
With my arms disabled, I have only my feet and my teeth to fight with. I use both, landing a kick on his knee and nearly catching his thumb in my mouth. I give a mighty wrench and almost free myself, but Berg is too strong.
Ethan pulls back, the concern doubled on his face. “Get her out of here. Tie her up and set someone to guard her, but see that she doesn’t get hurt. I’ll deal with her when we’re finished cleaning up here.”
“Ethan,” Berg asks, “are we all at risk?”
“No,” he says with certainty. “Only her.”
Berg drags me to the armored vehicle. I thrash and kick and scream all the way there. The driver pops out, his eyes bulging. “What’s wrong with her?”
Phillips has followed us. “The captain thinks she caught whatever made these jerks kidnap the women.”
“Cripes! You wouldn’t know it’s the same girl.” The driver backs up several steps.
“The captain said we’re safe,” Phillips says.
“How does he know?”
“I guess we’ll have to trust him,” Berg growls. “Help me secure her.”
I put up such a fight that it takes Berg, Phillips, and the driver to bind me hand and foot. Then I’m placed in the back of the AV, which is driven back to the service station, and Phillips plants himself outside the door. At first he tries to talk to me, to calm me down and fill me in on what’s happening. But when he sees the updates only make me more agitated, he gives up. I need to get free. I must…do something. I’m not sure what. Or why. It’s all a great confusion. But the drive is so strong. The idea so dominant in my brain.
The people. The culture.
Eventually, my screaming and flailing brings Ethan. He is carrying a syringe.
I writhe violently, throwing myself across the floor of the AV and twisting in my bonds. “Get away from me!” I screech. “Let me go! Get away!”
Ethan reaches in to grab my arm. I spiral away, lashing out with my feet and shrieking like someone possessed. He grabs my leg and drags me back. I beat at him with my bound fists, but he stabs the needle into my neck.
The effect is almost instantaneous. My strength fades. My voice dies. The only weapon I have left is my deadly glare. I fire it at him full force. I see the torment in his eyes and hear the hitch in his voice. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
Then the world goes dark.
***
I live in a cyclone of terror. Shapes and images morph into each other, whirling, blurring. I am running. Always running. Through landscapes smudged with purple, black, and gray. I bolt past Opal, who cries out and reaches a hand to me, but I’m unable to stop. I must keep running. To where, I can’t say. And I don’t know why. Only that I must go.
Opal transforms before my eyes, and suddenly I am not just running. I am fleeing. Jud Wilfert pounds behind me. Angry. Drunk. Eyes glowing like red coals. My feet barely skim the ground as they fly beneath me, but I can’t shake him. I hear his threats. His angry curses.
And then it’s not Jud who chases me, but Emerson. He glares at me with singular purpose, the look of a Bruel hunting his prey. The look shoots right through me. Chills me. Then suddenly I am Emerson. I am the hunter, driven to run on and on and on. Chasing…what? Where am I to go? What am I to do?
The landscape fades in. Fades out. Smears with smoky color. I am running through Settlement 56. It’s wrong, somehow, but I can’t quite place the problem. I sprint down the old highway toward the lighthouse ruins, but they’re gone. The promontory isn’t where it should be. It’s backward. And the town has been replaced with buildings constructed of dull beige brick.
The colors swirl to confusion. I want to stop. I want to find Opal. To tell her I’m so tired. So frightened. But I am mad with this need to keep moving.
And then Opal is before me, waiting for me on the highway. She smiles, and my surroundings soften with the misty pastels of sunrise. In its friendly light, the cove returns to normal, and the force that compels me onward weakens and dissolves. I slow and catch my breath. Opal clasps my hand in her gnarled fingers and we stroll down the two-track together.
The fingers laced between mine thicken, and it is Will who walks beside me. His gaze lingers on me, sweet and gentle. The wind blows my hair, and we’re no longer on the road but on a boat, rocking gently. The sound of waves soft beneath us. The light of stars above. And then Will is kissing me, his fingers in my hair, his arm beneath my head, his lips soft against mine. I feel the heat of his body. Our legs are tangled together, and I am filled to bursting with the most blissful feeling of happiness.
I feel his han
d on my face. I hear him calling my name. But it is Hoke’s voice. My eyes flutter open. I am in my bedroom at Axis. Will is not there, but the taste of his kiss still lingers in my memory. I smile and reach up to press my fingers against my lips.
My hand won’t move.
I come fully awake and find I am tied to the bed. A hospital bed, with IVs and cords attaching me to a variety of monitors that beep and hum and whir. Over their quiet chatter, I hear the sound of a familiar voice. “Come back, Jack. You have to get better.” Then I feel the caress of a tiny hand on my cheek. I feel the press of a small body and smell the earthy scent of little boy.
“Hoke?” I murmur.
His head pops up from where it rested on my shoulder. His grin threatens to tear his face apart. “Jack! You’re awake!”
“Hoke, what are you doing here?”
“Me and Opal came to make you better. You’ve been sleeping an awful long time.”
“Opal’s here?”
“Oh!” He rockets upright and swings his feet over the side of the bed. “She told me to fetch her as soon as you woke up. I’ll be right back!”
“Hoke, wait!” I want to make sure this is real and not another crazy dream. I need it to be real. And I have so many questions. But Hoke is gone.
True to his word, he comes flying back into the room a moment later. “See?” he calls triumphantly as he climbs back on my bed. “I told you she’s awake.”
A string of people follow him in.
“Opal!” I cry, trying to reach for her, but I’m still restrained. “And Willoughby? Caedmon? What’s going on?”
Opal sits beside me on my bed and grasps my hand. Tears brim in her eyes. “Oh, child. I thought we lost you.”
“Lost me!” I exclaim. “I don’t feel sick.”
“Oh, you’ve been quite ill,” Willoughby says. “But thanks to the quick thinking of your teammates and the devotion of your family, you made it through just fine.”
“But—” My forehead puckers. I’m thoroughly confused.
“We’ll discuss it later. Caedmon, why don’t you free her from all these contraptions. I believe this young man has been waiting very patiently for a visit with his sister.”
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 28
