I shift my body toward the open side of the chamber and bang my arm on something hard. It’s blocked. After closing my eyes to find my calm center, I shuffle toward the stair exit, bumping my head in the process. I kick with my feet. Air. A burst of relief. I shuffle farther and kick again. Rocks? A sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Help me dig!” I hear Julian’s voice, but it’s muffled, like I have earplugs in. I’m trapped in my chamber.
Frantically I pat at the ceiling above me, feeling for cracks. There are a few thin ones, like hairline fractures. And a larger one, over my right ear, that continues to spill an alarming amount of sandlike sediment. At this rate I’ll soon be completely buried, like a cursed princess trapped in the bottom of an hourglass.
There’s just enough room for me to twist myself around so my head is nearest the stair. I crawl on my belly and claw at the large chunks of stone that block my exit from the chamber. The jagged edges slice my fingertips and scrape my knuckles. I catch a fingernail, and as I pull my hand away, the nail peels off. I yowl in pain and jab my finger into my mouth, biting my injured finger between my lips, cursing the fact that the stronger my mind gets, the more I seem to inhabit my body and the more I feel pain. Shouldn’t I be able to will the pain away?
Whimpering, I try to calm myself. Physically there’s no chance of me getting out of here. But mentally? Am I powerful enough to move these heavy boulders that block my exit?
I tense and stretch my entire body, and then relax. I open my mind to let the energy flow around me, and I feel a tickle at the edge of my consciousness. It doesn’t seem threatening so I let it in. It’s Julian. He’s telling me to push with all my might against the barrier while they pull with theirs. “I’ll try,” I mutter.
Tentatively touching the barrier, my arms stretched out like Superman, I imagine all my energy focusing on that one spot. I harness this power and let it loose. There’s a loud boom, and then light streams into the chamber. We’ve managed to punch a hole—small, but wide enough for me to crawl through. Fortunately for my banged-up hands, the inside surface of the hole is as smooth as polished marble.
Julian helps me out, and once my feet hit the floor, I brush away the dust on my clothes.
Mira and Eli stand with Virginia by the open doorway. I’m relieved to see that Virginia is unharmed, and a little disappointed to see that Eli is fine too. Mira’s eyes dart back and forth, scanning for outside threats, while Eli gives me a once-over, as if confirming to himself that I am all in one piece. “Based on your little display, I would say phase three is all systems go.” He climbs over some rubble, motioning for us to follow. Eli’s mention of phase three makes me squirm.
As Julian and I move toward the exit, I place my hand on his shoulder. The buzz between us is entirely gone, and I’m glad. “Thanks for telling me to push back there while you were pulling. It really helped me to focus.” I grimace. “Though I’m sure our success had more to do with your effort than mine.”
“Our effort?” Julian scrunches his eyebrows together. “No, Felicia. That was all you.”
“You mean . . . you had nothing to do with getting me out?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“No.” He puts his index finger to his lips, indicating we should be quiet, and then whispers, “And frankly I’m surprised you aren’t a quivering mass of jelly after a stunt like that.”
He’s right. I should be out cold. But aside from some minor aches and pains, I feel fine. Good, even. I keep my voice low. “Where are we going? Another hideout?” I catch sight of my nine remaining nails. The polish is scraped off, uneven. I imagine a full set of smooth, perfectly oval nails, and they’re mine. I could get used to this.
Julian nods. “The plan is to meet up with the others at the main rebel base. Assess our strength.”
“Did the Morati cause the hive to collapse?” I ask.
“The Morati receive no benefit from destroying hives.”
“Then who did it?” I assume it wasn’t the rebels, since the cave-in could’ve hurt me or them.
Julian shrugs his shoulders. “That’s a good question.” It is. Perhaps a higher power is finally interfering? If so, it’s about time.
In front of us Mira and Virginia tiptoe along the corridor while Eli trudges beside them like a tank. As we follow, I survey the damage around us. The great majority of the hives are intact—pristine, even. Maybe only one in twenty has been affected, some worse than others. I peek back at our former hideout. Though the walls still stand, most of the roof has collapsed. It’s no wonder I was buried.
We walk for a long time, pausing only for brief periods to give Virginia short bursts of chamber time. Sometimes Eli carries her to avoid having to stop. The silence Julian and I share is companionable for once. We touch each other casually to point out cracks and crumbling hives we come across, and Julian laughs when I imitate Eli’s heavy gait. These welcome distractions help me to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I don’t want to think about what phase three might cost me. And I fear if I dwell on the Morati threat, on which people they might be infecting at this moment with the Phlegethon and turning into attack zombies, I might wish for a swift end and throw myself under the next cave-in.
At first I think the diminishing amount of light as we continue our trek through the hives is a trick of my tiring mind, but when I turn and look behind me, I notice a stark difference between the way we’ve come and the gloomy horizon ahead. The shadows grow fuller, the atmosphere more oppressive.
My pace slows, almost as if my body dreads going any closer. Julian leans toward me, his elbow knocking against mine. “Fog rolling in,” he whispers. “We should take shelter.” I stay close on his heels, and we duck into a hive, one that now resembles an abandoned hovel. The others are already inside, and Mira and Eli put their materialization skills to good use to make the place more comfortable. In fact, Mira re-creates the entire furniture set from our ruined hideout, right down to the throw pillows.
“Is this where we’ll meet the rest of the rebels?” I ask.
“Oh, no.” Mira laughs. “It’s a rest stop on our journey. Luckily for you and Virginia, a couple of the chambers here still function.”
“Actually, I don’t think I need to go in anymore,” I say as I set Virginia’s profile for her. She gets in gratefully. “I’m totally cured.”
“Yes, you are over your addiction,” Mira says, glancing quickly at Julian as if to gauge his reaction to her words. He keeps his face blank. “The point of going in the chamber now is to build up your mental toughness by reliving some of your less pleasant memories. But then, I think you already know that.”
Mira’s right. Reliving my betrayal of Autumn hurt, but it also made me stronger. One of these times I might even be ready to face the memory of my death—though, it would certainly undermine the rebels’ plan for me if I were able to move on. “Yeah, okay. But where are we? Why all the fog?”
“We’re on the edge of the isolation plains. We must cross it to meet up with the others at our headquarters,” explains Eli.
At his mention of the isolation plains, my ears perk up. That’s where Beckah might be. I can look for her. Save her. “Great.” I fake a yawn. “I guess I’ll go ahead and plug in, then. Build up some mental toughness.”
I inspect a couple of the chambers until I find one that works, and I scoot in. It takes less than a minute to pull up my profile and decide what unpleasant memory I should access.
Ward, Felicia. Memory #31551
Tags: Germany, Mother, Nervous breakdown
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I slam my cell phone twice against my desk. “Dammit! Why won’t you pick up?” It’s been a week since Autumn’s meltdown and Julian’s mysterious disappearance. I’ve seen Autumn at school, and the looks she’s been giving me, when she acknowledges my presence at all, are as sharp as icicles. I don’t need to call her to know she won�
��t answer. But Julian? Did he flat-out bail on me because the drama got too hot?
I heave my book bag onto my bed and then upend it to pour out its contents. Balled-up papers bounce off my bedspread and roll onto the carpet, joining the sea of candy wrappers, empty cola cans, and discarded dirty clothes. I have a makeup exam in physics tomorrow and need to study if I am going to improve upon my D+, the lowest grade I’ve ever gotten in my life. I owe my second chance to my excellent track record, and Mr. Hall’s squeamishness about “women’s issues.”
I shuffle through my books and break out in a cold sweat. I’ve managed to bring every book home except the one I need. I rub my temples and blow out my breath in short bursts. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
My stomach sinking, I go through my options, each more pathetic and desperate than the last. I could fake sick tomorrow and hope Mr. Hall takes pity on me again. I could go to Autumn’s and beg to borrow her book. Or I could borrow Mother’s car keys once she falls asleep and break into the school to get my study materials from my locker.
That last option has me giggling hysterically. When I sober, I absentmindedly dial Julian again. Still the message that his number’s been disconnected.
Lost in thought, I don’t even hear my mother come into the apartment until she’s right outside my bedroom door. “Felicia?” she calls. “You home?”
I bolt across the room and wedge myself through the door, blocking her view into my room. Last thing I need right now is her nosing around. “Hi, Mother. You’re home early.”
“I thought we could cook dinner together tonight,” she says, moving to turn on the hallway light. When she flips the switch, she gasps. “You look terrible! Are you sick?” I’m dimly aware I don’t look my best. Because I haven’t done laundry in weeks, I’ve resorted to the dregs of my closet—a pair of saggy jeans with grass-stained knees and a Frankfurt consulate T-shirt from an open house last year. I didn’t bother to put on any makeup today, my hair is stringy, and the skin around my eyes is tender and puffy.
Mother approaches me and places the back of her hand against my forehead. “You’re clammy. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.” She pushes against my door.
“No!” I shout wildly, pulling on the doorknob so she can’t enter my room.
“What’s gotten into you? Open this door right now!” She says it with authority, in her best Don’t mess with me or else voice.
“It’s my room,” I say. “And you’re not allowed to come in.”
Mother crosses her arms. She is not amused. “I’ll give you three seconds. Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
When I don’t budge after her countdown, Mother’s eyes go wide. “Are you disobeying me?” she screeches. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing.”
She backs away, as if giving up, and then lunges at the door, forcing it open. Triumphant, she marches into my room. She doesn’t make it far before she spins and stares at me disbelievingly. “What is this mess?”
As furious as I am with her trespassing, I know if she has taken it this far, I need to tread carefully. I bend down and start picking up clothes to put into the hamper. “I’ve been so busy . . . studying . . . I’ve let a few things fall by the wayside.”
“Yes. You have.” Her lips are pursed as she scans my room, and her eyes zoom in on the books and papers strewn across my bed. She plucks one of the balled-up papers from the floor and smoothes it out. It’s a pop quiz from my German class this morning. She shakes her head, grabbing at the rest of my school papers and uncovering my red badges of shame.
“You can’t have been studying very hard if you’ve been getting these grades. C, C minus, C, B minus, C plus . . . I’ve been much too lenient with you.” She sees my cell phone, still in my hand, and her eyes narrow. “I’ll take that,” she says as she snatches it from me. “Until you get your grades back up, no phone, no friends, no TV.”
“How are you going to enforce that?” I scoff. “You’re never here.”
She reaches over and grabs the skin above my elbow, twisting it in a painful pinch. “Do I need to get you a babysitter, young lady?”
I glare at her, but I say nothing. Finally she stalks out of my room, taking my papers with her. I slam the door behind her, then slide down it and grunt in frustration. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” I chant the words under my breath, wishing I were ballsy enough to spit them in Mother’s face. Then I jump up and tear back my bedspread, causing all my books to scatter onto the floor. I dive face-first into my pillow and beat my fists against my mattress.
I no longer care about my stupid test tomorrow, or Autumn, or Julian or my mother or any of this crap. I just want things to be normal again, to sleep without slipping into the same terrifying nightmare. The one where I’m trapped. Where my heart palpitates so fast, it might burst. Where a sinister presence shines with otherworldly light. I am so tired. So, so, so tired . . .
I open my eyes with a start, and for several terrifying seconds I think I’ve awakened in my nightmare. But then I hear the low voices of Mira and Eli, and I remember where I am. I lie still, straining to hear what they’re saying. I catch only bits and pieces, but it seems like Mira is stressing my importance to the mission and how dearly the Morati would like to capture me. Could phase three entail using me as bait or as a trade? I wouldn’t put that past Eli or Mira. But then why would they go to the trouble of training me? I must have some other purpose—and I wish I had enough power to force them to be honest with me. Probably God himself couldn’t manage to get the whole truth out of these three.
Careful not to trip on the debris outside my borrowed chamber, I clamber out.
Mira looks up from her conversation with Eli, bemused. “Feeling stronger?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “Can we finally ditch these digs?”
I tap Virginia on her arm, and she disengages from her session. She pets the sleeve of my sweater and looks up at me. “Say, how do I go about getting something besides this plain, itchy shift?” I’m relieved she’s back to her old self.
“I don’t think you’re strong enough yet, but once you are, I’ll show you how you can wear anything you want.”
“Cool,” she says.
“We’re ready when you are,” I confirm to Mira. “Where’s Julian?”
“He’s outside on lookout duty,” she says. She springs off the sofa and dematerializes the furniture.
We walk through the door together, and are immediately swallowed by the fog. It furls around me, probing, skimming the surface of my skin. It whistles a somber tune, so heartrendingly sad, it makes me want to curl into a ball and rock myself into oblivion. “Stay close,” says Julian in my ear as he links his arm through mine. “And think happy thoughts.”
With Julian as a buoy, I glide safely though the fog. “Depression gas,” says Julian. “Derived from the Kokytos, the underworld river of lamentation. The Morati use it as a border around the isolation plains.”
Mira frowns deeply. She and Eli are supporting a totally wrecked-looking Virginia between them. “More potent than ever before too.” Not potent enough to affect any of them, though, I guess. Maybe because they’ve been out and active longer than we have?
The plains are wide open, a vast expanse of white. When I squint, I can see they’re dotted with slabs of gray, like a graveyard right after a heavy snow. Mira explains that these structures are where the isolated people are housed.
As we get deeper into the plains, I realize the whiteness comes not only from the smooth polished surface of the ground, but also from a strange moss that gets deeper and thicker as we walk, until it feels like we’re wading shin-deep in cotton candy. Plodding through, I reach out to search for Beckah, concentrating on picturing her shy smile. I feel the presence of many souls, and I sense their suffering. This is a terrible place to end up—cut off from the net, cut off from all contact with others. I steady my thoughts and keep throwing out my line, hoping to reel Beckah in.
With
each step, with each failed scan, my mind grows wearier. I’ve nearly given up on finding Beckah, when I sense a brain wave I recognize. It’s her. I’ve found her! I home in on her signal and break out in a sprint, the others hot on my heels.
When I reach her, I pry open the tiny, hivelike sepulcher that encases her. Julian helps me lift the heavy lid, and I gasp when I see Beckah lying supine, her hands crossed at the neck, eyes open, blank and sightless.
Without the net architecture, I have to try to enter Beckah’s mind directly. But when I bear down, ready to grasp the first thought I find, I recoil in shock. Beckah’s mind is nothing but static.
CHAPTER 17
“SHE IS GONE,” Eli says dispassionately. “And we have to keep moving.”
I run my hands over Beckah’s face, refusing to believe there’s no chance for her, that this body is just an empty shell. “No! There has to be a way!” I chew my lip, racking my brain for some strategy, some inspiration—anything that would bring Beckah back. “Tell me there’s a way, Julian. Please!”
Julian shakes his head sadly and tugs on my sleeve. “Eli’s right. We have to go. There is nothing more we can do.”
I rip out of his grasp and shake Beckah’s shoulders—first gently, but increasingly violently. “Wake up! C’mon, Beckah. Wake up!” Her head lolls back and forth, and her arms flail like a rag doll’s. White moss flutters around us, and I almost wish it would swallow me whole.
“Scanner drones!” hisses Mira. “Julian, take Felicia to safety, now!”
As quick as a flash, Julian throws me over his shoulder feetfirst like I’m nothing more than a goose-down pillow. “No!” I cry out as I thrash against him. “We can’t leave her here!”
As Julian runs back the way we came, he clamps his hand over my mouth. I see Eli and Mira waving their arms at the scanner drones, Virginia terrified between them. The scanner drones veer toward them, hovering low, making figure eights as they go. Once they’re close enough, their amber light spills over Virginia, rooting her to the spot. I scream, but it comes out as a gurgle against Julian’s hand. Eli and Mira push back against the beams that try to trap them.
Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) Page 17
