“Security officers,” said Travel. “The warden can’t send SECs into the jungle, especially after a heavy rain. SECs lose their balance in the mud and become useless.”
“And with mud this thick, it will be impossible to cover our tracks,” I said.
“They’re so close. How is that even possible?” asked Michael.
“Hoverboots. They wear them when they meet the cargo flyer each week and unload it,” answered Travel. “Instead of sinking in the mud, they skate over it.”
“There’s no way we can outrun them,” I huffed. Pressure built behind my eyes, and I had trouble catching my breath.
“Then I’ll stay here,” announced Travel. “You two go, and I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. Go, go!” he said, giving me a push forward.
“No.” I smiled. “I have a plan. You’re coming with us, Travel. Follow me.”
I ripped the infinity light from Michael’s hand and took the lead with VW2 bobbing on my hip, knowing Travel and Michael would follow, for there wasn’t time to argue.
“Okay, so where are my breadcrumbs?” I whipped the light back and forth against the tree trunks. “There they are,” I said as I found the second set of marks I’d etched in the bark.
“Cass, what are you doing?” asked Travel when we drastically changed directions.
“I know what she’s doing. You’ll see,” said Michael, who had already figured it out.
The mud thinned into a soupy mixture that soaked the canvas of my shoes. I slowed to a cautious walk while VW2 gripped my shirt and sobbed. The guys followed without question.
“Water’s up ahead, isn’t it?” asked Travel.
“It is. It’s an inlet from the sea. There he is,” I said. Two orange eyes glowed in my beam of light. The croc lay off to the right of the inlet, hidden by trees.
Shouts radiated behind us and a half dozen beams of light broke through the vines.
“Okay, it’s time to change course again. We’re going to go left and walk at the edge of the inlet until we get around to the backside of it. Then we’ll cut right again. They’ll see our light, and instead of following our trail to the left, they’ll walk toward us from the right and straight into our trap.”
From the other side of the inlet, we waited, and I kept our light beam aimed behind me. Within minutes, the security team arrived, navigating effortlessly in their boots through the swampy muck.
“I see their light,” shouted one of the officers. “Straight ahead.”
The slide of boots that followed was almost inaudible, but each officer held an artificial source of light that flashed back up upon their eager faces, the faces of impatient predators. If only they knew their roles would soon be reversed.
We heard the smack of a tail, and I held VW2’s face against my shoulder so she couldn’t see what was happening. An officer screamed, and as the man’s team turned their lights in his direction, we saw the flurry of crocky crunching down upon its prey. The ripping of vines and flesh followed as the croc swaggered toward the water and submerged, leaving the splash and violent thrash of water behind.
Its victim’s cries continued, pleas for help when the officer was momentarily released so the croc could readjust his grip of teeth. But the victim’s team didn’t move, remaining huddled together in horror. Some covered their ears to deafen the screams of not only the victim, but the officers who begged their commander to call off the search.
Michael switched off the infinity light, and we turned away from the blood fest.
“They’ll call off their search,” said Travel. “They aren’t prepared or trained for this. No one has ever escaped from Area Four. On top of that, they don’t know anything about crocodiles.”
After the last scream and splash of water pierced through the night, one of the officers shouted. “They’re gone. I don’t see their light anymore.”
“Well, I do know about crocs, and there are more of them out here, lying in wait for their prey,” I said. “We better go. The sooner we get away from this inlet the better.”
We moved forward, fumbling in the dark for the first few hundred yards until Michael was convinced the team retreated and it was safe to use our light again.
“There’s my mark,” I said as Michael’s beam burned white across the tree trunks. Our mover is just ahead.” VW2 continued to cry, and I cradled her close, saying, “It’s okay. We’re almost there.”
“There’s the mover,” I cried with relief.
“We have to leave now,” said Michael. “By morning this island will be buzzing with officers. We won’t be able to bypass them and wait until tomorrow night to leave the island. The sun will be up in a couple of hours.”
What a relief it was to sit down in the comfy bucket seat of the mover, especially after the self-adjusting cushions conformed to my body. I drew its belt across VW2’s tiny frame and mine. My aching shoulder was finally free from the pillowcase I carried and my tired left arm was finally free of VW2, who was now safely strapped against me.
“Where are we going?” asked VW2. “Where’s Nana?”
Her questions started to pull at my heart. We could never tell her that “daddy killed Nana,” and I asked myself again how Michael and I would explain who we were.
“Nana’s still asleep,” was all I could say.
The mover didn’t start on the first try. Michael pushed “start” and held it until the hover engines purred, lifting the four of us from the ground.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
“We’re low on fuel,” said Travel.
“She asked me,” Michael snapped at Travel before turning toward me. “Our fossil fuel level should always be equal to that of the electric power in our reserves, and it’s not.”
When we reached the tops of the trees, Michael steered the mover toward Wurrka, and at the coastline of Possession, dropped the mover until its wheels met the splash of water. The moon was high in the sky, turning the foam of the sea a bright white.
“We should be okay as long as we maintain this speed and altitude.”
“There’s a flyer coming up behind us,” warned Travel, grabbing the back of my seat
“That’s the flyer that brought Harrington to Area Four,” I said.
A circle of light radiated against the ocean ahead of us, then drew backward to illuminate our mover. Though the flyer on our tail was twice as large as our Model Three, there was no need to worry about being brought down by a missile or laser fire, I hoped, since VW2 and I were priceless cargo.
The flyer swooped left and right in front of us to round us up, forcing Michael to slow down and turn back toward the island in order to avoid a collision. After giving us a good bump, the flyer backed off to make sure we’d remain airborne and stable, and then it continued its corralling techniques.
“What are we going to do? We can’t outrun that flyer. We’ll never make it to Wurrka. We have to turn back before we run out of fuel.”
“I don’t like this,” said VW2. “I want Nana.”
“I’m not going back,” said Michael, and he flashed me a look that reminded me that he was ready to die if he had to.
“I’m not going back, either,” said Travel. “I’d die first.”
“I died once, and I’m not dying again.”
VW2 broke into a wail as Michael jerked the mover left when the flyer cut in front of us and it all came back—my mom, the other students at the dig, the grinding of the helicopter propellers, the cloud of smoke. But I wasn’t scared this time.
“Take the president’s flyer down!” I shouted. “Knock it from the sky!”
“If it goes down, we go down,” he yelled back. “And with my bad knee, I’m not sure I could swim to shore even with a seat cushion.”
“Go low. Let it come next to us and hit it once we’re over land.” Maybe I was fated to die a first time like this, but there was no way I was fated to die a second time in an air-born crash. I had to take the chance we’d all survive.
&
nbsp; Our mover puttered with the loss of too much fuel, and when their flyer made a second loop in front of us, Michael couldn’t bring the Model Three to a stop, let alone maneuver it to avoid a collision or get it over solid land before we hit.
The nose of our mover sank into the flyer’s side with a thud and a rain of sparks dropped us both from the sky. I hugged VW2 tightly. The Model Three flipped and hit the ocean, sinking several feet then it popped back up to the surface and began filling with water.
“We’re going to go for a little swim VW2,” I told her, and pulled at the seat cushion. But they weren’t like the ones on Saul’s flyer. These cushions were fixed to the seats and couldn’t be removed.
Where were Michael and Travel? The water pressure eating at the sides of the mover wouldn’t allow me to open either my passenger window or the door, and after holding VW2’s head above the water while she screamed, panic set in and I frantically tugged and kicked at both, until something latched onto my shoulder—a hand.
With the water at my chest, I told VW2 to hold her breath, giving her a demonstration, and after taking my own big breath, pushed myself under the water, through to the back seat, and out the back driver’s side window, guided by whoever was at the end of that hand.
It was Travel. I popped up beside him, raising VW2’s head and shoulders from the sea as I kicked to keep my own head above water. VW2 coughed up a mouthful of salt water, and while I copied Travel, setting my hand upon the top of the mover to give my legs a rest, I patted my little girl’s back until she was clear.
“Where’s Michael? Michael!” I screamed.
“I’m here.” He was on the other side of the mover, and I stretched my arm across the mover’s roof until my fingers found his.
Travel ripped off his shirt, and after reaching below the water, his pants and shoes floated up to the surface. Michael did the same. I handed VW2 to Michael so I could undress, too, keeping on my underwear and bra.
The presidential flyer was more buoyant than our Model Three. Their flyer bobbed like a whale coming up for air, and in the crest of waves behind us, five security officers stroked at the surface of the water, heading toward shore.
“We have to swim for Wurrka. I’ll swim with VW2 on my back. Come on, honey. Climb aboard,” I said as playfully as I could despite the chill of the water.
Travel positioned VW2 against my spine, and I told her to put her arms around my neck and hold on tight. Pushing off the hood of the mover, which was now almost completely underwater, I gave a big kick. The sea lapped my face with each stroke, stinging my eyes, and I spit and sputtered, kicking as hard as I could to keep my back and VW2 above the water.
“I want to go home,” she cried.
“We can do it. We can do it,” I told myself, and with a few more stokes, I reached the breakers and dug hard with my arms to crest each wave and spill forward. VW2 started to slip, and I caught her with one arm and pushed her back onto my back.
I stopped to tread water and plant a toe downward, hoping to hit sand.
“Isn’t this fun,” I told her.
“No, no, no,” she said, and spit salt water from her mouth.
On the third try, the pad of my foot hit the ocean floor. As I gagged and brought VW2 back around to my chest, I walked through the waves to the beach, my legs like rubber and ready to buckle.
Travel came next, breathing hard and bent at the waist.
“I don’t see Michael. Do you see Michael?” I asked him between gasps for air.
“He’s there.” Travel pointed. One of Michael’s arms and then another shot from the water, both with fingers spread.
Travel trotted back into the water, dove beneath a wave, and re-surfaced, one arm wind-milling and then the other in a free stroke. When he reached Michael, Michael’s hands grabbed at Travel desperately, and they both dropped below the water. But Travel maintained his composure, flipped Michael onto his back, and pulled him through the water.
When they could both touch, they walked up the beach, Michael’s arm across Travel’s shoulders as Travel kept him steady on his feet. From that distance, they almost looked like twins in their boxer shorts and with their similar builds. They dropped to their knees before me, and Michael fell forward onto his palms, taking deep breaths. I remembered I was in my bra and underwear and crossed my other arm over my chest as I held VW2.
Our mover was gone, but the presidential flyer maintained its buoyancy as it floated to shore.
Four security officers remained in the water, their arms slapping the surface violently as they tried to swim. But something was different with the set of waves that came next. The water grew turbulent like it was possessed, foaming in the light of early sun. After a scream shot across the beach, we all knew why—crocodiles. And not one, but a whole congregation.
They snapped, twisted, and turned, taking their victims easily. I turned my back and VW2’s from the fever of hungry crocs and trotted away from the shore to get my daughter as far away as possible from the slaughter.
Once we were fifty yards away from the shore, I said, “Look at the sand. Isn’t it pretty? And here’s a shell.” I pointed to a creamy shell glistening in the moonlight and set VW2 at my feet. She picked up the shell.
“Pretty,” she said.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned expecting to see Michael, Travel, or both.
But it was Mia, wet and missing her shoes, but still in uniform. I glanced over my shoulder. Michael and Travel were preoccupied, pushing the president’s beached flyer back onto her wheels.
“Come here VW2,” said Mia. I grabbed my daughter’s shoulder and kept her still, and Mia turned to me. “My colleagues are dead because of you. Eaten by crocodiles.” She raised her chin at the ocean behind me. “One of those men, the pilot, was my brother. Now, come to me VW2!” she snapped.
“Hey, Cass,” shouted Travel in my direction. “I think we can—”
I nudged VW2 to a small patch of sea grass by my side and took a step forward. Mia sprang in my direction with her arms extended, her hands ready to wrap around my throat.
“Get VW2,” I shouted to Travel as I heard him come up behind me. “Take her away.”
Blocking Mia’s arms with mine, I ducked to the left and twirled from her grasp. She came at me a second time with a kick that knocked me backwards. She stood above me on the small rise of a sand dune, laughing, her ankles at my eye level.
She lunged as I rolled in the opposite direction and got to my feet. A left jab scraped my chin as I dodged away. When the swing of her right arm came toward my left cheek, I kicked her sore ankle as hard as I could. My bare toes crumpled, and I kicked again. She bent at the waist with a grunt, and I winced at the pain in my toe.
Mia rose. A punch came next, but it wasn’t from me. She dropped backward, hitting hard upon the wet sand and grass. Michael held up his fist to deliver another blow against Mia’s already broken cheekbone.
“No, Michael, don’t kill her. Like you said, enough people have died, and ‘life is precious.’ Right Mia? Unfortunately for you, the crocs don’t have the same philosophy, do they?”
She didn’t answer my questions, but her chest heaved and tears escaped the corners of her eyes as we left her lying on the bed of sea grass.
“That flyer is still operable,” said Travel as the three of us walked back to the beach. VW2 whimpered against Michael’s chest as he held her. “It has a hole in its side,” Travel continued, “but it floated to the shore hole-side up, so the cabin’s almost completely dry. Michael tested the engine. Not only does it run, but it has plenty of fuel. It’ll take us wherever we want to go.”
Michael set VW2 down. She stood next to him, clinging on to his leg while she dug on of her toes into the sand. Another daughter—my daughter. The reality of the twin’s existence never really settled within me until now. Her sister, VW3 was safe, wherever she was being kept. I knew that. No matter how hard and unethical the hearts of her captors, they would never allow physical harm to c
ome to her. Being their key to not only the future of the human race but also the key to their self-serving power, she was more valuable to them than all of the unharvested DNA in the world.
“Come here, VW2. Let me hold you,” I said.
Michael watched as she semi-reluctantly skipped across the sand and into my arms. His eyes held a kind of love I hadn’t seen in them before, but it was a special love I recognized. It was the tender, unconditional love parents have for their children, the same love I felt for Victoria and now VW2. I kissed her forehead and I held her against my chest.
Victoria. Was she still with Magnum or had he instilled her care into another’s hands? I had no idea, but he would make sure she was protected. Though Magnum had betrayed my trust, I knew deep in my heart that he only turned on me in order to bring about a better world, “something big” he’d called it. He did what he thought was necessary to save humanity and bring real freedom to the regions. Knowing there were society members in unexpected places willing to help us gave me some comfort.
I’d be reunited with her once again. I didn’t doubt that. And VW3—we’d find her, too, bring her home to join our family.
“Wherever we want to go. And where will that be?” I asked Michael.
And I thought of a place that was deteriorating, a place that was L-Band free, a place far away from Harrington. I thought of a house in a neighborhood where the bottom floors were brick and the top floors were sided with wood, the roof tiled with slate. A place with a cozy but updated kitchen and arched doorways. With furniture plain but comfortable and walls a yellowish beige. A place where I could cook a real meal, keep the windows open to breathe the fresh air, and take my daughters on an archaeological dig once they were old enough. With Michael right by my side.
“Tasma,” he said.
“Tasma?” asked Travel.
“I want to go home,” said VW2.
“We are going home.” Yup, Michael had read my mind.
We were “newlyweds.” With the society watching out for us, we’d get there—a place where we could regroup and come up with a plan to find Victoria and VW3.
Ascendancy Page 22
