“No,” Ronja said.
“You,” Terra barked at the chemi, who jumped, scattering more papers. “You got a name?”
“Maxwell,” he whimpered, adjusting his spectacles again with a quaking hand. “Maxwell Wagner.”
“We’re looking for three prisoners, Maxwell. Iris Harte, Henry Romancheck, and Roark Westervelt. You’re going to help us find them.”
“Six,” Ronja corrected firmly. “Layla, Cosmin, and Georgie Zipse.”
Maxwell nodded hastily, his pupils dilated. “I know where they are.”
“All of them?” Evie asked incredulously.
“I have perfect recall. Harte is closest.”
Terra motioned for Maxwell to step toward the door with her automatic. He crossed the room, stepping over one of his fallen comrades, his sweaty palms still raised above his head.
Terra stepped behind Maxwell and jammed the muzzle of her gun into his spine. She stood up on tiptoe so she could whisper in his ear.
“Scream, call for help, and you’ll be dead so fast you won’t have time to say goodbye to your Conductor.”
Maxwell bobbed his chin, then dropped his scrawny arms.
Evie opened the door cautiously, sticking her dark head into the hallway.
“Clear,” she announced over her shoulder.
“Lead the way, Maxwell,” Terra ordered bitingly.
50: Unscathed
“Are you ready?” Ronja asked Evie quietly.
They stood in a tight knot outside an expressionless doorway Maxwell insisted led to Iris. Ronja knew what they might find beyond it, and was not sure she or Evie were ready to face it.
“No,” Evie admitted. She looked up at Maxwell, who was still trembling at the barrel of Terra’s automatic. “Do it.”
Maxwell reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring of keys. He chose a small bronze one and inserted it into the lock. It sprang with a click.
Evie reached around him and yanked open the door.
A blur of white burst through the portal, knocking Evie clean off her feet. Fists and curses flew as Iris whaled on Evie, who had been knocked onto her back.
“Iris!” Evie shouted as loud as she dared.
Iris paused, one fist still in the air like a club. She looked from Terra, to Maxwell, to Ronja, to Evie. Slowly, like fog lifting off a lake, the rage washed from her face. Tears budded in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks.
Iris laid her freshly shaved head down on Evie’s shoulder and began to sob silently.
“Reunions later,” Terra said. She nudged Maxwell with her gun, drawing a terrified squeak from him. “Take us to Henry.”
Evie rose with a grunt, clutching Iris around the waist. Iris wrapped her arms and legs around Evie, ignoring the dry sewage caked on her front.
“Iris,” Evie said softly, ignoring the dagger-eyes Terra was sending her. “I have to put you down.”
Iris nodded, sniffled, and unwound her arms and legs. Evie set her down delicately. Ronja looked Iris over. She looked exhausted and shaken, but altogether unscathed.
“What happened?” Iris breathed when she laid eyes on Ronja.
Iris reached up a boney hand and brushed the cuts and bruises on her face. Ronja flinched away as pain flared beneath the featherlight touch.
“Later,” Ronja said.
They flew down the curling corridors, following Maxwell, who was muttering to himself about The Music. The man ran comically, his feet flapping like a duck’s flippers. They met no resistance. Maxwell had said everyone was at an assembly, but Ronja had not believed him until now.
“How long is this assembly going to last?” Ronja panted as they ran.
“Twenty more minutes, maybe,” Maxwell huffed, peering down at her from behind his sweat-fogged spectacles.
“Hurry,” Terra hissed.
“Here,” Maxwell said quickly, thrusting a thin finger forward. “This door, right here.”
They screeched to a halt before cell 453. Ronja tried to swallow her heaving breaths. Everyone except she and Maxwell seemed unfazed by the sprinting.
“Open it,” Terra commanded, prodding Maxwell between the shoulder blades with the barrel of her gun.
Maxwell did as he was bid. He fiddled with his keys for a moment too long, drawing an annoyed grunt from Terra. He located the right key and inserted it into the matching lock. As soon as the tumblers clicked, Ronja shoved him out of the way and put her hand on the knob.
“Henry?” she called quietly, not wanting to be bowled over by a boy with at least one hundred pounds on her. “Henry it’s us, we’re coming in.”
There was a pause. Ronja saw his shadow shift through the crack between the floor and the door.
“Ro?” came his raspy reply.
Ronja wrenched open the door, her heart high in her throat.
Henry stood at the back of his cell, his fists partially raised in preparation for a ruse. He was dressed in ill-fitting white scrubs. His right eye was swallowed by a ring of bruises, and circular burns decorated his chest, but he appeared to be in one piece.
“Ro . . . ” he trailed off, dropping his fists and looking her over with darkening eyes.
“I’m okay,” Ronja said hurriedly, waving him off. “I’m—”
Henry flew at her and wrenched her into a bone-crushing hug, squeezing the lie from her. He reeked of sweat, but beneath it Ronja could smell his familiar musk.
“Henry,” she said weakly, patting his drenched back. “We gotta go.”
Henry released her and straightened. He caught sight of Terra standing in the doorway and arched a brow. “Thank you,” he said, as if the words did not taste right on his tongue.
Terra inclined her head sharply and gestured for them to move into the hallway.
“You,” Ronja barked, jabbing her finger into Maxwell’s boney chest. “Cosmin, Layla, and Georgie. Where are they?”
“A different block,” Maxwell said, polishing his spectacles with the edge of his lab coat. He put them back on, covering the pink divots where they squeezed his nose too tight. “We need to hurry. If I’m seen with you—”
“What about Roark, where is he?” Evie cut in.
“If I had to guess, with his father at the assembly.”
Ronja clenched her jaw, the image of the cigarette burns on Roark’s arms surging into the front of her mind.
“How are we going to get to him?” Iris asked nervously, clutching for a hand to hold.
“One thing at a time,” Evie said, taking her hand absently. “Victor isn’t going to kill Roark outright, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Ronja replied, slowly shaking her bald head. “He wants to use him.”
“So we get your family out first,” Evie conceded. “Right, Terra?”
Terra scowled at Evie, but she dipped her chin begrudgingly.
“Lead the way, pitcher,” Evie commanded Maxwell.
The chemi flushed behind his glasses, but his only reply was to jog forward on his behemoth, flat feet. They went after him swiftly and silently.
51: Inconsequential
Roark
Not ten minutes after Ronja was dragged from his life, the two Offs who had thrown her in the ovens returned.
Roark trembled with rage as they observed him indifferently, then tossed a bundle of clothing at his feet. A pair of dress shoes followed, their varnished faces reflecting the sterile lights.
“Dress, and meet your father outside,” the bald Off ordered.
Roark did not reply, nor did he move to don the clothing.
“Do as you’re told,” the other Off commanded.
“I can’t,” Roark snarled, rattling his chains demonstratively.
The dark-haired Off dug into his pocket and withdrew a silver key. He lobbed it at Roark, who ducked. It struck his shoulder and bounced to the floor, landing several tiles away.
“Do as your told, or you’ll be worse off than the mutt.”
Roark lunged, but was dragged down by his chain
s. He hit the floor awkwardly, and bolts of pain shot through his wrist. He suppressed a wince and clambered to his feet.
The Offs left, their laughter dogging him until they slammed the soundproof door.
Roark looked from the key to the pile of clothing.
He could refuse, suffer at the hands of the two goons. He had endured worse. He knew, though, that his father would find a way to get him to cooperate.
And if he got out of this cell, he was one step closer to ripping out Victor Westervelt II’s throat.
Roark reached for the key with a bare toe and dragged it close enough for his fingers to grasp. He inserted it into the first of his manacles, grunting when the metal snapped against his sprained wrist.
When the last of his cuffs rattled to the ground, Roark stretched. He rolled the kinks from his neck, the wayward vertebrae popping like fireworks. He let his eyes fall shut, but opened them again quickly. Her face was still plastered across the backs of his lids. Having his eyes open was not much better. Her blood was turning brown on the floor.
Roark focused on dressing.
His muscles groaned as he stepped into the freshly-pressed slacks and shrugged on the matching top. Intricate gold clasps lined the high-necked jacket. The Conductor’s emblem glowed white against the black backdrop, suffocating the record tattooed over his heart.
Roark slipped on the stiff dress shoes, steeled himself, and exited the room.
His father stood in the center of the corridor, examining a pristinely-trimmed fingernail nonchalantly.
“Ah, Roark,” he said, letting his hand fall. “Looking much improved, though I wish my Officers had not touched your face.”
“It wasn’t them,” Roark said, coming to a halt several feet from Victor. “It was Ronja, when she found out you’d taken her family.”
“You always did have a taste for spitfires,” his father noted, observing him keenly.
Roark rolled his fingers into fists at his sides, but refused the bait.
“Walk with me,” Victor ordered, joining his hands behind his back and starting down the corridor.
Roark started after his father without complaint.
“I was somewhat confounded when you called out her name,” Victor began, his voice rebounding off the walls of the empty passageway. “I had been hearing it for days on the lips of two of our guests. I asked the younger of the two who Ronja was, and she informed me that she was her cousin. Interesting, given that the children’s aunt is also here. Even more intriguing was the fact that the aunt is a mutt.”
Roark felt his father observing him as he processed the information.
“I would like to speak to the mutt about her offspring, but we have other matters to attend.”
“Such as?” Roark asked through his teeth.
“A demonstration,” Victor replied, flashing Roark a winning smile. “I thought you might be interested to see what your father has been working on these past months. You must have noticed the snow in my hair,” Victor said with a chuckle, patting the white streaks that had crept into his dark hair. “I would like to show you what has caused me so much grief, and why it is entirely worthwhile.”
Roark did not reply. They trekked the empty halls in silence, their footfalls disturbingly matched.
“How long have you suspected me?” Roark asked after awhile.
“Since before your sister died. I knew there was a possibility she might have swayed you.”
“She wasn’t part of the Anthem.”
“No, she was far more dangerous.”
“Yes. Yes, she was.”
“Sigrun died bravely. I was proud.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” Roark spat, screeching to a halt. “She was no more your child than I am. Whatever blood we share is inconsequential.”
Victor regarded Roark with flat eyes, his most dangerous expression. Roark braced himself, preparing to fend off an attack. Victor let his hands drop to his sides, his fingers twitching like pale earthworms.
The man spun on his heel and started down the hall again.
“You’ve grown bolder, son,” Victor called over his shoulder. “You’ll make a fine candidate for this presentation.”
52: Headphones
“We keep mutts and their relations in a separate wing,” Maxwell explained breathlessly as they ran through the vacant halls.
“Why?” Ronja asked.
“Different Music, different experiments.”
Ronja chewed on her words, then swallowed them. She had to conserve energy. Her adrenaline was starting to fail her. She did not know how much longer she would last before her legs gave out.
Terra stopped ahead, throwing up her fist. The group staggered to a halt as one. The blonde pinned her back to the wall and peered around the corner. She whipped back around and swore soundlessly. She held up four fingers, then jabbed a gloved finger at Evie.
Evie drew her sidearm capped with a silencer. Now was no time for stingers.
Terra pointed at Henry and Iris in turn, then jerked her chin toward Ronja and Maxwell. Henry stepped forward and clapped a massive hand over the scrawny chemi’s mouth. Maxwell trembled like a leaf, but did not struggle. Iris moved to stand in front of Ronja, a rather pointless act as Ronja could see clear over her head.
Any other time Ronja would have growled that she could take care of herself, but she was too busy breathing to argue. Ink bled into the edges of her vision, and it felt like someone was hammering on her skull.
Terra and Evie pressed their backs against the wall, keen eyes trained on the corner. Militant, booted footsteps approached.
Terra raised three fingers. She let one fall, then the second.
The girls burst out from behind the corner just as the pack of Offs rounded it.
Terra let one of her blades fly and nailed a man between the eyes before he could scream. She yanked the knife from his skull as he crumbled, leaving behind only a thin strip of red in his skin.
Evie vaulted over the man Terra had felled and shot a dark Off in the neck. He clutched at his spurting wound. Evie put him out of his misery with another shot to the temple. His comrade flew at her and wrapped a bulging arm around her neck. She twisted in his grip, pounding on his arm with no avail.
Terra whirled toward Evie and slashed the man across his bulging bicep. He cried out and released Evie, who fell to her knees, gasping. Terra used the man’s confusion to plunge the blade into his heart, twisting it slowly and drawing an agonizing moan from him.
Pop.
Terra wheeled around, her hands empty and her eyes flown wide.
The last Off swayed for a moment, then crumpled to the floor. Blood gushed from the hole in her forehead. The knife she had been preparing to plunge into Terra’s back skidded across the tiles, glinting sharply in the electric light.
Terra looked down.
Evie lay on her stomach, grinning wickedly, her smoking automatic aimed around Terra’s left leg.
“Not bad, huh?” she drawled in her foreign lilt, raising her blood-splattered hand for Terra to grasp.
The blonde took the offered hand. She yanked Evie to her feet and slapped her on the back in a rare show of affection.
Ronja slipped out from behind Iris, her eyes fixed on the ring of fallen Offs. She padded through the spreading pool of blood. The warm fluid squelched between her toes, but she scarcely noticed.
“Ro?” Henry asked from somewhere far away.
Ronja crouched beside one of the Offs, her hands plastered to her knees. His eyes were wide, ogling the ceiling blindly.
“Headphones,” Ronja murmured, touching the black device clamped around his ears with a tentative finger.
“Wha—?” Evie began.
“We have to get out of here,” Ronja said, shooting to her feet and backing away. She slipped in the blood and caught herself, her arms pinwheeling through the air. “We have to—”
“What’s going on?” Terra asked harshly.
“Those things keep Th
e Music out,” she said, pointing at the headphones. “They’re going to play it over speakers.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked carefully.
“Breaking news, we no longer need Singers to hear The Music, lucky us,” Evie said, clapping her hands together in an overwrought impression of an excited child. “And now they have a torture song.”
“They know we’re out,” Iris gasped, her fingers flying to her prim mouth.
“No,” Ronja said, some of her panic leaking away as logic took hold. “No, if they knew we were out they would have used it a long time ago. I think they’re going to test it on someone at the assembly. Someone without a Singer.”
“Roark,” Terra said grimly.
Ronja locked eyes with the girl and nodded. “We should split up,” she suggested. “Some of us will get Roark, the rest will get my family.”
To her surprise, Terra agreed.
“Evie, Iris, take Maxwell and get Ronja’s family,” she commanded.
“Excuse me?” Ronja asked incredulously.
Terra ignored her, turning to Maxwell.
“I assume all three members of the Zipse family will be under the Recovery Song?”
“I would guess so,” Maxwell confirmed, shifting from foot to foot.
“Good, so stinging them won’t be a problem.”
“What?” Ronja yelped.
Terra rounded on Ronja, one hand on her hip.
“The Recovery Song is barely a breath from The Quiet Song. If they become lucid and get scared, they’ll be dead in minutes. Would you prefer them have one burn or your space in the oven?”
Ronja paled. She opened her mouth to reply, but Terra was no longer paying attention to her.
“Maxwell, you’ll guide them to Ronja’s family, then you’ll accompany them out through the storm drain on the south side of the compound.”
“That leads to the bay,” Maxwell squeaked. “I can’t swim.”
Terra cocked her head to the side.
“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares. As I was saying, you’ll lead them out through the storm drain into the bay or you will die in agony. Do you understand?”
Maxwell flapped his lips uselessly. His spindly hand snaked up to clutch his Singer, which Ronja could almost hear inching toward The Quiet Song.
Vinyl: Book One of the Vinyl Trilogy Page 28
