Awakening

by Shannon Duffy

  “I’m glad we’re together, too. But why is everything blinking on and off?”

  “This is the part of the Terrorscape that I was telling you about. The program is setting up for the interactive phase. But don’t worry about that. Just stay with me, okay?”

  I nod, a sense of shock working through me as my eyes survey the flashing landscape. The chirp of a cricket draws my attention to the right and I move in its direction, curious. A large willow tree forms in front of me and I stumble back a step.

  I reach out my hand in awe to touch its flowing branches. At first my fingers slide through the leaf as though it’s made of air—still blinking on and off like a light switch.

  Darian moves in behind me and I sag back against him. The tree finally stops blinking and stays fully formed. I pluck a leaf from one of its branches, rub it between my fingers, listen to the sounds of birds twittering in my ears, and inhale the scent of pine that surrounds us.

  “You’re sure all of this isn’t real?” I ask, gazing at the now dense forest.

  Darian points to the dark sky that holds an endless sea of stars and a bright, full moon. “Yeah, and neither is any of that. But we need to move, Rae.”

  One time, when we were kids, a hurricane whipped across Tower. The Protectorate said it was punishment for the way our ancestors lived in the Manic Age—that they didn’t respect the environment. At the time, Darian, Laken, and I were riding the tram home. The high winds seemed to heave the tram. I was terrified it would fly straight off the tracks and we would plunge to our deaths, but Darian assured me we’d be okay.

  He whispers the same sentiment in my ear now as he presses a hand gently against my lower back. But before I can move, a low, creepy moan rumbles through the air, echoing against the terrain. My heart jumps, terror sparking inside me like I’ve been hit with a live wire, triggering a million goose bumps.

  Darian twists around, searching the darkness, then twines his fingers through mine and pulls me forward.

  “What was that?” I ask, my voice rough with fear.

  The moaning grows louder.

  I glance back a second and wish I hadn’t.

  A boy about my age ambles toward us. He seems almost normal except for the sag of his jaw, his wild eyes, and the way he claws the air, moaning and desperate.

  He stops when his gaze meets mine. Cocking his head in an odd angle, his pale skin pulls taut over his gaunt features. He lets out a loud snarl and moves toward us again in jerky, spastic motions.

  “Let’s go,” Darian says. “We don’t want the undead to catch us.”

  “The undead?” I choke out, horror gripping me like icy fingers. I don’t want to look back again, but I can’t help myself.

  Several more of what Darian calls the undead lurch out from the trees. I’m watching over my shoulder, stumbling over twigs and brush as Darian pulls me away from them.

  One of the undead is a girl with blond, matted hair mixed with blotches of something rust-colored.

  They are thankfully moving slowly and sluggishly—at least for now. The girl lingers with the three undead boys. One minute she staggers alongside them, hungry eyes intent on me, and the next, she heaves herself onto the back of one of the boys.

  She twines her dirty, blood-streaked legs around his waist, grasps his hair, and yanks his head back. With a growl, she sinks her teeth into the flesh between his shoulder and neck.

  A spray of blood shoots out, splattering her face. I scream and, with a sickening awareness, realize the rust color in her hair is dried blood. The bitten boy drops to the ground, convulsing in a pool of blood.

  “It isn’t dead,” Darian says, pulling me around, forcing me to tear my eyes away from the horror. “It’s only wounded. Those things are hungry for blood—especially fresh human blood—and they won’t stop until they get it.”

  I keep pace with Darian as he picks up speed and jogs through the woods. I cradle my wounded rib and push aside the pulsating pain in my neck. My mind reels in panic.

  Darian slows down and tips his head back. “Give me a knife!” he yells. He starts jogging again, guiding me through the grass.

  “What was that about?” I ask, breathless. “Who are you talking to?”

  He points up, but doesn’t slow down. “The assholes that run the Terrorscape.”

  “Do you mean they give you weapons…but why?”

  We reach a large tree and Darian comes to an abrupt halt. He lifts a shoulder. “Making us fight, terrorizing us, is all part of the punishment for Noncompliance. But I can’t help thinking that they do it for sport, too.”

  For sport. I play the words back in my head as I stare at the plush grass beneath our feet. The level of The Protectorate’s control continues to amaze me—how they can get away with this.

  And suddenly it comes to me.

  I had no right to believe in the fantasy of The Protectorate. It’s nothing more than the old fairy tales that children used to believe in—the happily-ever-after of it all. And, in real life, it is the happiness we find ourselves, like little treasures hidden in the sand, that is worth fighting for.

  Darian pecks the bridge of my nose, and then quickly lifts me onto the tree’s lowest branch. The undead’s moaning grows louder and closer. Too close.

  “Climb up as high as you can,” he says, giving my ankle a squeeze. A small smile twists his lips in encouragement, but it doesn’t quite reach his indigo eyes.

  Backing away, he dips his head back again and looks to the night sky. “Put a knife in play, you bastards!”

  Thud.

  I follow the sound to the ground near Darian. The moonlight glints off a blade.

  “Get up as high as you can,” Darian says and, before I can respond, he swipes up the knife and tears directly toward the undead.

  “Darian!”

  I climb higher into the tree, watching in horror. The undead spread out as Darian approaches.

  Their moans intensify, low and guttural, sending a shiver rippling down my spine. Darian sprints the last few feet, then propels himself off of a moss-covered rock and drives his knife into the skull of one of the undead. But before Darian can move, another sinks its teeth into Darian’s forearm.

  Darian curses and covers his wound with his free hand. Blood spills between his fingers. My head swoons at the sight of it, my stomach tumbling. I know somewhere within me that it really isn’t blood—that they’re holographic images like Darian said. But it looks completely real, and knowing that Darian is feeling the pain makes fire ignite in my veins.

  Without thinking, I jump out of the tree and land on my feet. “Knife!” I scream to the stars, terror heaving against my chest. “Knife, knife, knife!” I refuse to watch Darian continue to get bitten.

  A knife drops from the sky and I snatch it up, clutching it in my damp palm. I dash toward Darian and the undead, pumping my arms hard, hardly feeling the ground beneath my feet. Their hungry moans intensify, and the sickening realization hits me that it’s probably because the scent of fresh human blood is in the air.

  Darian’s blood.

  I swallow back the huge lump in my throat as ribbons of shock and fear latch onto me.

  As I approach, the undead girl focuses on me. Bits of decaying flesh hang from her face, and blood drips from the sides of her mouth. She snarls at me, revealing sharp, glimmering teeth.

  My breath hitches in my chest, but somehow I keep running. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just moving on pure adrenaline and the instinct to survive—and protect Darian. Do it! I command myself. Slice her!

  She reaches her claw-like hands high, anticipating a similar jump like Darian’s. Instead, I drop and roll, then quickly pounce to my feet behind her, reach around, and stab the knife into her eye socket. I gasp, out of breath as sharp pain splinters my rib cage.

  Darian’s gaze darts over my shoulder just as loud moaning rumbles in my ear and stale, hot breath tickles my neck.

  I let my legs collapse beneath me, dropping to the ground
like a stone just as Darian lunges forward. The undead trips over me, stumbles forward, and Darian sinks the blade between its eyes.

  “Look out!” I scream as the last undead ambles up beside Darian.

  The words barely escape my lips before Darian tugs his knife back. In one swift move, Darian swings his muscular arm around and buries the knife into the base of the last undead’s skull.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You were supposed to stay up in the tree,” Darian says, a hint of annoyance edging his voice. He holds out a hand to help me up.

  “And let you have all the fun?” I grin as he helps me up, then quickly hide my trembling hands behind my back. Leaning in, I take a look at his wound and wince at the sight of his torn flesh. “Oh my God. That looks so bad. Are you okay?”

  He shrugs. “It’s fine.” He tears a strip off of his shirt and wraps his wound. “But I’ll cover it so it doesn’t freak you out.” He ties the fabric in a knot, and then sets his gaze back on me. “When we wake up, we won’t see the injuries anymore. All we’ll be left with is the pain.” He leans in and whispers in my ear. “I need you to help me.”

  I pinch my brows. “With?”

  “Remember the power outage the night I escaped?” He cocks a brow.

  I nod. “Of course I do. It was the only power outage I ever remember happening.”

  Darian shifts, checks the surroundings, then looks back at me. “Well, that was no accident. It took me a long time to figure things out, but I caused that. And once the power went out, everything went crazy. I took my opportunity, scooped up a knife, and made my getaway.”

  Darian checks over both shoulders again, and then bends to pick up a stick. He points it at a bush. I can tell that, besides checking for more of the undead, he’s trying to make it look like we’re talking about something else to anyone watching. “C’mon,” he says, leading me into the shadows behind a cluster of trees. “We better lay low for now so we won’t be taken off guard if there’s another attack.”

  “Another attack?” I say, anxiety creeping into my voice.

  He looks away and a muscle pops in his jaw. “You never know when the officials will pull us out…or send in reinforcements.”

  The thought of reinforcements is unsettling and I wrap my arms around my elbows as a shiver rushes over me, despite the humidity. “How did you manage to knock out the power?” I ask in a hushed voice.

  “Well, first off, I figure this place is about the size of a football field.” Darian ticks his chin toward the sky that’s still glittering with hundreds of stars. “And all of it is controlled by one huge Syncro-Drifter that hovers over the whole amphitheatre. It connects to the mainframe that controls both the Dreamscape and the Terrorscape. If I find a way to get to her—what I call, the mother Syncro-Drifter—and mess with it, you know, give it a virus—it will short the system,” he whispers with a grin.

  “Seriously?”

  His lips tip up. “Yeah, seriously,” he whispers. “In the event of a power shortage, she’s programed to pull from all power resources across Tower in an attempt to juice herself back up. But after I mess with her system, there’s no amount of power in the world that can get her up and running again until The Protectorate can remove the bug.” Darian snickers and grins, looking proud of himself. “And pow! There you have the reason for the power failure that night.”

  “You refer to this mother Syncro-Drifter like its human,” I whisper.

  “Well, it sort of feels like that in a way, doesn’t it?”

  I guess with what it’s capable of, I can sort of see his point, but thinking of a machine as human is just creepy. “I guess.”

  Darian’s face grows serious again. “It could take me a while and, to be honest, they could have made some adjustments that might make it more difficult, but I won’t stop trying. I’ll find a way to get us out of here. And if I don’t find it over the next few days, you’ll be out soon, anyway. You’ve only got six more days after tonight, then they’ll send you home.”

  I nod and force a smile.

  Only six days.

  I don’t tell him I don’t think I can make it six hours, let alone six more days. It’s not like it’s six days of being grounded, or six days of detention. Who knows what other terrors The Protectorate will force us to confront and fight. Vega’s words ring in my ears. Murderers.

  “Prime Minister Vega said that we are murderers,” I say. “I think he’s going to claim they found proof that I helped you kill your parents and make me stay in here forever.” The moment I say it, I feel a twinge of guilt. My fear of this place makes me want to get out as soon as possible. But Darian is never getting out unless he escapes again. And the moment I leave—if I do—he’ll be on his own. If I stay, I can help him, but the thought of being in here night after night terrifies me.

  I slip my hand into his, deciding that I’ll do whatever I can to help him. “You’ll just have to find a way out before I leave,” I say. “Or I’m coming back for you.”

  Darian stiffens beside me. In one swift move, he scoops me up under my arms and plops me back on my feet in front of an oak tree. He leans forward until my back is pressed against its trunk. With a low growl, he places his hands against the bark above my head.

  Challenge fills his eyes. “That’s not going to happen, Rae,” he says scowling. “Don’t even think about that.” He narrows his eyes, then opens his mouth and clamps it closed again, jaw working. He looks to the sky and heaves a sigh. “You know what you need to do when you get out of here.” He nods at me and leans back, his shoulders squared.

  I know he means for me to find Jameson and go to the Awakened cell. I also realize he doesn’t want to mention anything about them while we’re in here with prying eyes and ears, but leaving Darian seems cold.

  As if reading my mind, he says, “I’ll be just fine.” He slides a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, his expression softening. “I’m sticking to the plan, beautiful.” He winks.

  “All right,” I say, even though I’m not sure I can follow through with that plan. And I know Darian means he’ll escape and find me, but it seems next to impossible. “Where do we start looking?”

  He lowers his voice to a bare whisper. “I found a hidden trap door in a tree that leads up to the control room. The image of the tree covered the staircase. It’s where the fighter bots appeared from that time I told you about.”

  “In a tree?” I say too loudly. I bite my lip, tug a leaf from a branch, and glance over my shoulders. Looking back I say in a hushed voice, “You can’t be serious. There has to be a thousand trees in here. How are you going to remember the right one? And do you honestly think they’d use the image of the same tree to cover the stairwell?”

  Darian surveys our surroundings and I know he’s searching for more of the undead again which makes my stomach twirl in anticipation and dread.

  “Probably not,” he says. “But at least I know there’s some hidden way to the control room.”

  “So does that mean all the sequences in the Terrorscape are in a forest setting?”

  He shakes his head. “No, that’s just where I happened to find it. I remembered that’s where the fighter bots came from and tracked it down the next time I was in that setting. But I figure it’s gotta be hidden somewhere in each setting…it just makes sense.”

  The grass blinks again, from steel floor back to grass. I stumble backward as the tree I’m leaning against disappears.

  “Shit,” Darian says. “I didn’t get a chance to look around. Maybe we killed the undead too quickly and the officials are pulling us out.” He blows out an exasperated breath. “Tomorrow night, you hide and I look,” he whispers quickly. “Deal?”

  The same sound from before, like a jet plane, roars out and once again we’re surrounded by endless steel walls and floors.

  “But if I only hide…” I say, my eyes widening. “Won’t they send in the fighter bots that could really kill me?”

  He sighs and glances to
the ceiling, a look of something like defeat flickering across his face. “All right. You might have to run a bit so the officials at least see some action. But, Rae…” he says, casting his blues on me as he threads his fingers through mine, “…if they send in the fighter bots, I’ll be there to protect you.”

  After being ushered out of the Terrorscape by armed officials, Darian and I are separated. One official guides me into a small room with stainless steel walls and no windows. A toilet and sink sit at the back of the room. He leads me to the single bed.

  “What now?” I snap, unable to contain my annoyance.

  He presses a button on the wall and a Syncro-Drifter drops from the ceiling. “Now you sleep.” His words come out devoid of emotion. “Unfortunately, a dark, dreamless sleep.”

  I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but right now I’m so tired I don’t care.

  He presses a button, setting the Syncro-Drifter, then turns to look at me. I can’t help but think his eyes look tired…or maybe it’s a trace of sadness. Maybe it’s even possible that he isn’t an animal like some of the other officials who seem to enjoy punishing people. “Four hours is all you get,” he says with a nod. “Try to go right to sleep, okay? You’ll need the rest.”

  I close my eyes and fold my arms over my chest. I don’t have the energy to answer, but four hours of sleep sounds like heaven right now anyway.

  I know the official has left when there’s a soft clicking sound of the door closing. I’m so tired that I don’t even bother checking to be sure…already the hum of the Dreamscape is pulling me under.

  Pain erupts across my side and I open my heavy lids. It’s a dark-haired official. His long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and his deep-set green eyes are narrowed at me. The smell of stale liquor and sweat seeps from his skin like smog off a swamp.

  I blink my eyes alert. It takes a second, and then I realize it’s the official who caught me at Lake Briar—the one who kicked me, breaking my rib…and the one who killed Darian’s parents. Now he’s poking me in my rib cage with the Taser rod. Even though it’s turned off, it aggravates my injury.