We locate a tubular waste chute that should serve effectively as an exit point. Closing my eyes and blocking my nose, I attempt to deflect the odious aromas wafting around me as I slide to the ground. Jarod catches me and we run quietly in the direction the others went.
As we round the next corner, the sound of doors slamming accost us, and we both screech to a halt. Jarod extracts another device and throws it to the far wall. It attaches to the concrete and transforms into a miniature mirror. I squint at the reflection. A large black Humvee with tinted windows idles at the pavement. Commissioner Williams ducks his head and steps into the vehicle. The pavement is now empty and the engine starts up.
Jarod drops to his hands and knees and motions for me to do the same. “What are you doing?” I half-whisper and half-hiss. “You can’t go out there. We’ll get caught!”
“Trust me.”
Offering up a silent prayer, I crawl awkwardly around the corner after him. I keep my head low and focus on the pavement. The vehicle starts to maneuver out onto the road, and Jarod half-straightens up as he makes a grab for me. Tucking me into his waist, he flings himself at the back of the vehicle, holding the heavy bumper with his other hand. Sometimes being teeny does come in handy, and Jarod is able to hold both of us up one-handed.
Our shoes scrape the ground as the vehicle moves slowly forward. Pins and needles stab my feet, shooting up my legs.
Twisting around impressively fast, Jarod simultaneously flicks a button on his waistband, and a flat box drops underneath us, expanding in size until it resembles a mobile cart. My scream freezes in my mouth as we plummet to the ground. We drop onto the pallet with a thud, and I hold my breath, terrorized beyond anything I’ve felt before. The Humvee is picking up pace now, and I’m fearful his arm is going to be ripped off.
“Keep flat to the cart. Don’t move, don’t speak.” Jarod fiddles with a button on the side. The cart vibrates and Jarod removes his hand from the bumper as we slide underneath the vehicle. My heart is pounding wildly and a thin layer of sweat coats my forehead.
Jarod removes a clip from the side of the cart and gestures for me to do the same. I explore the edge with trembling fingers and pinch the tiny clip to release it. Both clips shoot upward and fasten to the underbelly of the car. There’s a horrific, swaying motion as the cart elevates, securing us in place a few inches off the ground. Butterflies dive bomb my stomach, and I think I’m going to be sick.
The Humvee navigates a few bends and smaller roads, and with each distinct movement in the vehicle, my stomach swerves uncomfortably, my wrist throbs, and the fluttering, anxious feeling in my chest accelerates. The cart is long enough to accommodate my entire torso, but Jarod’s legs dangle dangerously off the edge.
When the Humvee reaches the main road, it picks up speed, and my hair swirls around both of us, tickling and tangling and annoying as hell. At least it distracts me from puking which is a good thing because I already smell like day-old garbage.
The Humvee pulls off the main road and travels for about ten minutes in a westerly direction. My vision is restricted at this angle and in this dark light. All I can see from the side is freshly laid asphalt bordered by orangey-brown barren land that appears to stretch for miles. Dust clouds gather along the edge of the road as we pass, and soon the smoky air winds its way around us, infecting our air supply. The itch to cough is almost overpowering.
The Humvee swings around in a circular fashion before coming to a complete standstill. I strangle my fear as feet land on the ground—mere inches from us—and doors slam in uniform succession. Footsteps stomp on the ground and several voices converse. I twist my head to the other side and meet Jarod’s gaze. Tiny amber flecks shine in his chocolate brown eyes, and I realize he’s chosen to forgo his navy colored contacts. I hope that was wise. If we’re caught, and his real identity is revealed, he could be whisked back to the penitentiary, or worse. I shiver.
Gradually, the sound of footsteps gets softer and softer, and the voices sound farther and farther away. After what feels like eternity, but is most likely no more than five or ten minutes, Jarod shifts beside me. He unclips the cart and guides us out his side of the Humvee so we’re sheltered by the body of the vehicle. He helps me straighten up and brushes dust off my clothes. Sooty black marks line his face like tribal war paint, and I have to smother my laugh. With his painted face, all black attire, and myriad of different gadgets, he’s like a wannabe James Bond in training.
“What?”
“Tell you later,” I say, with a sly smirk.
We peek around the edge of the Humvee and stare at the stark brown warehouse in front of us. Dim lights glow from the two right-side front windows, but other than that, the building is in complete darkness. Large, cumbersome construction vehicles are static in front of the warehouse, and there’s a ginormous mound of muddy earth piled high beside a cavernous hole in the ground. Glancing over my shoulder, I spy another warehouse in mid-construction across the lot.
“Look up there.” Jarod nudges me with his elbow. I follow the line of his hand to an observation tower off the side of the warehouse. Comprised jointly of wood and steel, a hut-like edifice rests atop four solid legs, and a ladder scales the side of the structure. No lights are visible so either it’s not yet operational or someone wanted it unmanned for the night. “Do you think you can manage?” He gestures toward my injured wrist.
“Sure.” I don’t want to be viewed as a weak link. I can grit my teeth and hide the pain.
“Okay. Follow me.”
This is suicide. But I follow him nonetheless.
We move stealthily toward the warehouse, hunched over, and keeping to the unlit left side of the building. When we arrive at the ladder, Jarod climbs up first, and I ascend behind him. Each step is pure agony, but I bite down on my pain. I’m as slow as a snail, but eventually I reach the top. Jarod pulls me up onto the elevated walkway. We move around the other side of the structure—out of sight of the warehouse—and Jarod pulls a pair of battered looking digital binoculars from his jacket pocket.
“Ran out of fancy gadgets?”
He grins. “You like my gadgets.”
“I do,” I admit without argument. His gadgets are saving our butts thus far.
Jarod scans the area in front of us and lets out a low whistle.
“What do you see?”
“Here, check for yourself.” He hands the binoculars to me. I fit my eyes to the lens and sweep the landscape from left to right taking in at least a dozen other warehouse structures like this one. Looking in a north-facing direction, I spot a cluster of high-rise buildings standing in isolation inside a walled enclosure. I zoom in on the sign tacked to the wall outside. “WORKER ACCOMMODATION. FACTORIES 1 – 5” is clearly visible in thick, bold lettering.
What the …?
Switching the lens back around to the warehouses, I narrow in on each structure and spot the details I missed previously. Each warehouse has a number and name in large print etched onto the side. Things swiftly click into place.
Wordlessly, I hand Jarod the binoculars. I shouldn’t be surprised. It was my initial instinct when I first landed in the Mock-Up Facility and spotted all the star tattoos. That there have only been a handful of bullions and coins participating in “The Experimento” is no accident.
The government has no intention of rehousing the upper or middle classes to the new underwater cities. If this construction site is any indication, then the word “city” is misplaced too. These are underwater work colonies for the lower classes, nothing more, nothing less.
Thalassic City is an illusion. A carefully orchestrated entrapment. And we’ve all been duped into bringing the illusion to life. Even my old life holds more appeal than this prospect. And I don’t admit that lightly.
“This is sickening,” I fume. “This has been their intention the whole time. And we’ve been part of some elaborate ploy to convince the lower classes that moving underwater would be a step up, when, in reality, it’s
like journeying through time to the Dark Ages.”
Jarod rests his chin in his hands as he leans over the railing. “I wish I could say I’m surprised but I can’t. I’ve known all along that the government had an ulterior motive, but I didn’t think they’d go this far. Do you think anyone will even have a choice?”
“Not likely. Here, give me those again.” I stretch across him and take the binoculars. I scour the entire land in all directions, and all that peppers the barren landscape are warehouses and clusters of living sectors. There are no forests or greenery here, no cascading waterfalls or gushing rivers, no slick shopping districts or social boulevards, and no residential suburbs with carefully manicured lawns.
No realization of dreams.
Nothing but a depressing future as slaves to the state awaits the lower class.
A heavy pressure settles on my chest. That I’ve been an unwitting accomplice to deception on such a large scale sickens me to the pit of my stomach.
“We should go,” Jarod says. “I don’t want to be exposed when the others come out of the warehouse.” I follow him silently.
When we reach solid ground again, we tiptoe softly around the corner of the warehouse and walk in the direction of the Humvee, taking care to keep our backs flat to the wall as far as we can. The sounds of bickering tickle my eardrums and I’m instantly inquisitive. Fear fights with curiosity and righteous anger inside me. Logan is a part of this. Gut-wrenching disappointment and sorrow joins the melting pot of my mixed emotions.
Has it all been a lie?
Without any concern for my safety, I drop to the ground and wriggle on my belly until I’m underneath the first lit window. Jarod curses low on his breath as he follows me. I crawl under the ledge and secure my back to the wall, tucking my legs up under my chin. The window is open at the top and the voices carry clearly.
“Now that we’ve agreed on that much, can you confirm when the next shipment will be ready?” a nasally voice says.
“Seventy-two hours,” an accented voice replies. I recognize the intonation. He’s the man I saw in the Mock-Up Facility with Dante, at the City Hall event, and that morning in the building outside campus. Obviously another alien. That would explain the weird accent.
“Good, good,” the first voice says.
“What progress has been made in Sector Twenty?” the alien says.
“The last batch look promising although it’s early days,” Commissioner Williams says. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. He’s never off the airwaves.
“What’s the average turnaround time?” the alien asks.
“Eight weeks for this group. We’re monitoring their stats on a daily basis, and we should be able to narrow it down conclusively in the next week or two,” the commissioner replies.
“I want reports sent to my office tomorrow. I need to understand the pattern so I can instruct our citizens.”
“Of course, Sir,” the commissioner says.
Jarod and I trade puzzled expressions.
“Assuming we’ve identified the correct method this time,” the nasally voice says, “how soon can we start sending residents of the Outer Circle for processing? The president is anxious to colonize these cities as soon as possible and to start the reconstruction project above ground.” So nasally voice is our esteemed VP. Go figure.
I stuff my fist in my mouth to quell my vitriol. Jarod motions with his head toward the vehicle. I’ve heard about all I can take anyway. I shunt forward on my belly until I’m beyond the second window frame. Jarod helps me up and we edge toward the corner of the building. We can scoot over to the Humvee from this end once we circle back and approach it from behind. Stopping at the corner of the warehouse, I turn toward Jarod. I’m wrenched back forcefully, and a hand clamps roughly over my mouth.
Instinct kicks in and I thrash about in my captor’s arms. Jarod flies around the corner and receives a fist in the face for his trouble. Dropping to the ground with a thud, he is out cold. “Stop kicking me,” Haydn says. “I’m going to release you, but you can’t scream or move. We can’t alert others to the fact you are here. Okay?”
I nod and he lets me go. Twirling around, I stagger back when I spot the thunderous look on his face. “This is beyond stupid!” He’s livid. “What were you thinking?!”
“Maybe I’m fed up of being kept in the dark!” I hiss, injecting venom into my words.
“Logan was planning on explaining everything tomorrow. Couldn’t you have waited a few more hours?”
“It wasn’t—”
“Shush,” Haydn says, jerking his head urgently. “I need to get you both out of here now. Quickly, follow me.” Bending down, he swipes an unconscious Jarod off the ground with a grunt. Swinging him over his shoulders, he pushes me in front of him, and we run along the side of the building. Rounding the corner, I slam full force into a solid mass and fall back against Haydn. His hand snakes around my waist as he steadies me.
An excruciating pain whips up and down my arm and I cry out. Stars blur my vision and my head throbs painfully at the point of impact.
“Well, well, well,” Dante says, in that menacing tone of his. “This must be my lucky day.”
CHAPTER 23
“Walk faster,” Dante growls, shoving me in the back. I stumble, lose my balance, and crash to the ground. Twisting around at the last minute, I narrowly avoid further injury to my wrist. Dante smirks and then he kicks me savagely in the side. I scream as a sharp pain rips through my ribcage.
“Sir,” Haydn says through gritted teeth. I stare at him incredulously. “I don’t think the crown prince will be happy with this course of action.”
“The crown prince can kiss my ass.”
Haydn shoots me an apologetic look as he helps me off the ground. Jarod remains unconscious, slung across his shoulders. Dante grabs my upper arm and drags me along.
We enter the warehouse at the rear of the building and walk through a dimly lit narrow corridor. Dante pushes through the metal door at the end of the passageway, and we enter a vast vaulted space equipped like an assembly line. Humongous high-rise containers intersperse with rows of silver-plated steel countertops that run the length and breadth of the cavernous space. Rimmed by innumerable intricate pipes that flow in and out of the vats, workstations are already prepped for operation.
The group of officials is huddled at the far end of the space under a glowing light. They are engaged in an animated discussion around an image projected on the holoscreen. At the sound of approaching footsteps, a number of heads swivel in our direction.
Logan slowly stands and his eyes pierce mine. His poker face gives nothing away. The memorable, tall dark-haired alien male looks strangely amused. Alarm registers in the VP’s eyes as he stares at me.
“Let me handle this!” A voice booms clearly in my mind. My eyes pop wide as I stare suspiciously at Logan. This caution can only have come from him.
“What do we have here?” the alien male asks, walking to my side. He glances from Dante to me to Jarod.
“Logan’s little pet and her human sidekick,” Dante snarls. His nails dig into my arm. The movement causes the throbbing pain in my wrist to intensify and I wince.
Logan takes a step toward me. “You’re hurt.”
The alien male props a cautionary hand on his shoulder. “Wait, son.”
That man is Logan’s father?
His father takes a step forward. He pinches my chin in his hand, extending my neck uncomfortably. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t lie. He can tell.”
I’ve no option but to trust Logan even if my faith in him is significantly shaken. “We were curious to see what was being built alongside Thalassic City. So we snuck onboard the Subvee and followed you here.” My voice trembles a little and Dante snickers.
“Don’t they say curiosity killed the cat?” Logan’s father says. He looks me over with obvious contempt. His eyes are a startling shade of blue and a close match to Logan’s. But the cold harsh inhum
an glare is all his own. If I was secretly harboring any hope that Jarod is mistaken over Logan’s true identity, I’m not anymore. That his father isn’t human isn’t up for debate. Outwardly, he looks like one of us, but I’ve never met anyone with less humanity.
My knees knock together, and if Dante wasn’t gripping me so forcefully, I’d probably collapse. Intense fear whips through me, as I comprehend the extent of the danger we’re in. Jarod chooses that exact moment to regain consciousness, emitting a low moan as he lifts his head and surveys the scene. Haydn plants his feet on the ground and holds him much the same way Dante is holding me. “Don’t move,” he advises.
Jarod looks sideways at me, a puzzled look on his face.
“Who are you?” Logan’s father asks him.
“Who are you?” Jarod retorts.
Dante slams his fist into Jarod’s temple without warning and Jarod stumbles back. Haydn steadies him. “You will address King Adjani with respect,” Dante growls.
My eyes bug out of my head. Good God. Logan is not just any alien. He’s alien royalty?
“Screw you,” Jarod says. I’m unsure if he’s addressing the king or Dante.
Dante releases his hold on me and throws a savage punch direct to Jarod’s gut. He lands blow after blow to Jarod’s upper torso and face and blood spurts forth spraying his white shirt. “Now look what you’ve done,” Dante grumbles, glancing at his stained T-shirt. The next blow whips Jarod’s head back with such force that I scream involuntarily.
“Stop hurting him! Please. You’re going to kill him!” The king still has my chin clasped in his hand and he’s obscuring my view of Logan.
“Logan! Do something!” I shout silently, hoping the message somehow gets through. Dante grins psychotically before throwing another punch at Jarod.
“Father,” Logan says, stepping forward. “It would be prudent to interrogate him to ascertain what he knows. Killing him will achieve little.” He sounds maddeningly calm.
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