by Anya Allyn
With the sword and an axe, I blundered back to the passage that was blocked with tree roots. Lighting a candle that I’d taken from Etiennette’s things in the small cave, I knelt and then fixed the candle to the floor by dripping some hot wax. I hacked and sawed at the roots—yelling and grunting my fear and anger with abandon.
It took three nights to saw enough of the tree away to be able to break through.
Breathing deeply, I crawled in. The rough edges of the splintered roots scraped and scratched at me. But I made it through to the other side.
Reaching back for the candle, I began my journey upward.
The passage continued forever—it had to be going all the way through the cliff to the castle grounds. I lost track of time as I followed the winding path.
Moonlight lit the walls ahead. The passage was coming to an end. I had to take care—I had no way of knowing what lay beyond the exit. I blew the candle out.
Moving up to the craggy opening, I stole a glance outside. A curtain of rain streamed down. I was not yet on the castle grounds. Steep steps led to a wide ledge on the side of the cliff, where the steps rose sharply—beaten smooth and precarious by the ocean weather. There was no one to see me. Stepping outside, I tilted my face to the warm rain, watching the stairway disappear around a corner in the cliff face. Above the cliff, a tower loomed. A hard lump formed in my throat.
The tower.
The downpour drenched my face and body as I stood in silent witness.
My fear urged me to go back. Whoever the occupant of the tower was, they would not take kindly to me trespassing. And they were sure to alert Balthazar. They had seen everything—from my walking down the chapel aisle to marry Zach to my marriage at Balthazar’s side. They had coldly watched my every anguish.
There was no other way to go forward except through a gate that led to the tower—and that was a path I could not tread.
Dr. Verena’s words came back to me. She had taunted me that there was something here at the castle that I sought, and that was why I was here. I had sensed the castle’s secrets the first time I had seen that high, dark window. And now, I felt the force inside the tower overwhelm me, swamp my every defense.
A chill fear rattled inside my chest.
Whatever the tower held was my deepest, darkest nightmare.
Turning, I fled back to the passage.
7. The Search
ETHAN
I crowd out all thought of the family I’m walking away from. Jack and Deandra have forced my hand, and there is nothing I can do to convince them of what really lies in wait for them at the bottom of the hill.
Frozen wind blusters around my face. My body heats and chills at the same time and I realize I’m running a temperature. I can’t afford to get sick now—I’ve a long way to go to reach Miami and get back to Cassie.
Down in the camp, two boys shoot from behind a truck—racing away and up the hill. Their skin is dark against the white backdrop, their small bodies scrawny—they can’t be more than five and seven.
Three soldiers pursue the boys—two women and a man. No, not soldiers—rangers. I duck behind an abandoned car. The boys head in my direction, then run to the left, to a factory that looks like it was abandoned a long time before the serpents ever came. The rangers advance on the factory just as I see the boys race up a stairway on the second floor.
“You get ’em, Nance and Gina,” calls the male. “I’ll wait here in case they come out again.”
“You’re out of puff, fat boy,” one of the rangers replies—a woman with dark hair pulled severely back in a ponytail.
The other woman—with shoulder-length blonde hair—gives a hooting laugh.
The women are perhaps in their mid-twenties, and the man no older than twenty. He wipes his nose on his sleeve—his cheeks reddened by the cold. He reminds me of those oversize pumpkins they grow on farms. His chest and stomach look overgrown, his legs slightly knock-kneed. “Don’t see why we need to get ’em. They’ll come down again when they get scared enough. They’re just little kids.”
The dark-haired woman stops dead, placing her hands on her hips. “Little kids who heard their mummy and daddy talking. And saw them each take a bullet. We can’t have them running loose and causing trouble.” She pulls something from her pocket—a gun. “Okay, Nance and me are heading in. You make sure you watch and don’t damned fall asleep. If you see them escape, you know what to do.”
He sighs with his whole body, like a soft, sad mountain.
“Rory?” she demands.
“Okay, yeah, I know what to do.” He digs into his pocket and retrieves a pistol.
She sighs loudly and shakes her head at the blonde woman. The two women head into the factory. I tell myself there’s nothing I can do here—these kids are just two more victims among millions. It’s just the way it is.
Turning, I head the other way. But something weighs on my shoulders and won’t let me take another step.
~.~
Making my way to the back of the factory, I scale the wall. Picking one of the broken windows, I hoist myself inside. The walls are covered in graffiti and tags, the spaces are mostly barren and littered with ceiling plaster and wall paneling—it’s hard to tell what this factory used to produce. A chemical smell fouls the air. Broken pipes leak some kind of dark yellowish substance into huge vats. To search this place will take forever—especially if the kids have been smart enough to hide themselves well. But the women followed them pretty much straight in—they must have an idea of where they went.
I listen for sounds. It’s not long before I hear heavy footfall on the floorboards on the level above. And a shrill voice. “This is getting exhausting. It’s cold in here. Just come out and I’ll take you back to the camp for some hot milk and cookies.” The woman makes only a feeble attempt to sound convincing.
I take the stairs to the next floor. Moving quickly, I make my way along the buckled flooring.
Nance and Gina are opening and slamming a long series of locker doors. Nance—the blonde woman with a scowling, pretty face—peers into a locker and moves aside a row of coats in annoyance. “Stinks to high heaven in these damned things.”
This part of the factory holds four aisles of locker doors. I edge around to the last of the aisles. At the end of the row of lockers, a door cracks open, and a set of eyes peer out. The kid seems to be trying to decide whether to stay hidden or break out and run. He catches sight of me and closes the door again.
I run as silently as I can manage to the locker door and position myself near the air vent.
“Kids,” I whisper, “they’re coming for you. You need to get out of there. Come with me now and I’ll get you away.”
Neither of them answer. I can tell they’re not going to move. They don’t trust me any more than they trust those rangers.
“I’m not one of them. You have to believe me. They’ll be here soon—you need to run.”
I jump as two figures appear at the end of the aisle.
Their expressions are fierce and questioning, and their guns are pointed straight at me. I need a reason for being here—or I’m going to get a bullet in me.
I slam a hand against the door, as though I’ve shut it, and shrug at the women. “Thought I’d start at the other end.” I open the next locker. “Shit, someone left a damned tuna sandwich in this one.” I kick the door shut, then look over at the women in surprise. “Is there a problem?”
They glance at each other, the blonde one named Nance putting her hands on her hips. “Damn straight there’s a problem. You.”
I raise my eyebrows in what I hope looks like annoyed confusion. “Rory told me to come in and help. You want me to go look someplace else?”
They walk toward me, guns still in hand.
“We don’t know you,” says Gina. “Who the hell sent you?”
Don’t make up a name. Be vague. Be stupid. But never, ever be on the defensive. “Why? Would it change your day if you knew? I don’t have a clue. Th
ey just said to go tail Rory—said he’s too damned slow. I don’t want to be stuffing around in here any more than you do.”
Gina makes a huffing sound and her eyes narrow. “Why aren’t you in gear?”
I shrug again. “Said they’d suit me up later. I came in from the port in New York earlier. They want to speed the operation up, so they’re sending more of us up here—you know, so they can ship everyone out.”
“So you know what’s going on here?” There’s a cold question in her eyes.
You know what these people are like. Rangers are all the same. They’re either psychopaths who get a kick out of killing fellow humans or they’re normal people who try to justify to themselves the evil stuff that they do. “Yeah,” I answer. “It’s a new world and only the tough are gonna survive. And I’m a survivor.”
A smile curves Gina’s mouth. “Too right. Some of us have to survive—else we all die. We’re preserving the human race.”
“That’s the way I see it, too.” I pretend to look around. “Rory said you need to hurry it up.”
Annoyance creases her face. “For chrissakes! While he’s relaxing out there, he’s handing out orders? Bet he wants lunch. All he thinks about is his gut.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, he was practically rubbing his stomach—like a genie was going to pop out of it or something.”
Gina bursts out in a short rain of laughter. “I like you.” She peers at me. “Your accent’s weird. Where you from?”
“Australia. My olds moved here two years ago.”
She toys with the pistol. “Hey I got an idea. I saw some kind of sick room back there—had a bed.” Nodding, she pulls her bottom lip through her teeth. “Could be important—I think you and us should check it out.”
I grin back at her—buying myself a minute while I think. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So let’s check it out later today,” I say. “Right now, we better get the guys down there off our backs, and wrap things up here.”
“They’re not going to miss us,” says Gina. “And I’m only talking ten minutes each. Unless you got more staying power than that.” She winks at Nance.
“I can’t,” I tell them. “Straight after this, the big guy told me to get back and clean the bathroom. Seems someone spewed their guts all over it.” I start opening and shutting locker doors, pretending to check them out. “Who’re we looking for, anyway?”
Gina strides up to me and slams the door shut that I’m trying to open. “Never mind that. They’ll keep. You come with us.”
“I said later,” I tell her.
Nance points a gun at me. “Gina says now.”
This isn’t going my way. And I have no weapon with me—nothing. “I’m gonna get into a shitload of trouble. I’m new here.”
“Not as much trouble as a bullet in your head.” Nance smiles sweetly, but her eyes are hard as rocks.
Change tactics. “Yeah, why not? But what about Rory? He’s not gonna wait down there forever.”
“Rory can sit on his fat ass and wait,” Gina exclaims. “S’not like he’s gonna puff his way up all these stairs.”
I laugh in reply, but they’re not buying it. They can tell I don’t want to go with them.
They lead me to the cafeteria. The room with the bed lies beside it.
“Maybe the food was so bad they needed the sick room right near it,” Nance jokes.
The room has a row of open lockers—the contents plundered. I guessed people must have stripped every kind of medical supplies they could find. The room is dark—there’s no window.
Gina pulls back the dust-covered sheets of the lone, single bed. A family of mice scamper away from the sudden exposure. I have no idea what the mice are eating in this desolate place—cardboard and wall plaster maybe. Gina shakes out the dust and mouse droppings.
Nance trains her gun on me while Gina strips to her underwear and waits for me on the bed, shivering with the sudden exposure to the cold.
I take off my coat and shirt.
Gina grins at the sight of my chest. “Nice.” Her gaze travels to the knife scars on my neck and under my ribs. “You’ve been bad—real bad—haven’t you?”
Gina’s no longer got her gun—it’s in her jean pocket on the floor. Now there’s just one of them with a gun. I glance back at the door. It has a thick bolt on the outside—probably used at one point in the factory’s history to keep the drug addict employees out when the attendant was away. A single light bulb hangs from a cord in the ruined ceiling. A cheap-looking desk holds abandoned files and scattered papers. The room is small, without much room to move.
“What about you?” I say to Nance.
“Nope,” she says. “One at a time.”
I widen my eyes. “It’s not kids you’re after, is it? Just saw one.”
Nance turns in a single, sharp movement. I jump on top of the desk then leap to the light cord, and swing out hard. My boots crash into Nance’s shoulder. She falls, her eyes like bulging blue marbles as she hits her head on the door frame. Gina yells out in anger. Rushing out the door, I slam it behind me and pull the bolt across—then leap to the side. Gunfire rains through the door.
I cry out, pretending one of their bullets got me. Another frenzied round of gunfire follows. I hope they’ve exhausted enough of their bullets now not to be able to shoot out the lock.
8. Rebels
ETHAN
As I race back to the lockers, I see the end locker hanging open. Cursing, I search the factory floor.
A soft scraping sounds from the other side of a large conveyer belt. Two pairs of small shoes pull in as I run over. Peering over the top of the belt, I see them—two boys huddled together, the whites of their eyes large against brown skin.
“It’s okay,” I tell them, “they’re gone.”
“You shot them?” says the biggest.
“No. They tried to shoot me.”
“You’re bad, too.”
“I’m not one of them. But if we don’t head off, they’ll figure a way out of the room I locked them in, or someone else will come looking for them.”
The eldest boy’s eyes dart about. I know he’s preparing to run.
“Look, I knew exactly where you were before—did I rat you out?”
The youngest one shakes his head.
“Well then cut me some slack. I’m trying to help you.”
“Why would you help us?” the eldest demands.
“Because I hate them too.” My voice is harsh—I can’t keep the bitterness out of it. But I must have convinced them because they slide out of their hiding hole.
I exhale slowly. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have the barest clue what I’m going to do with these kids. “What are your names?”
“Sam and Tommy,” says the eldest, pointing to himself and his brother.
“Okay, Sam and Tommy, stay close to me.”
We make our way down the factory stairs. I stop to pick up a small metal pipe just near the exit.
Outside, Rory stands with his back to me—his shoulders slumped. Something forms in my mind—a hazy idea.
Indicating to the kids to stay behind and stay quiet, I steal up behind Rory and press the pipe into his back.
“You come with me,” I say close to his ear.
“Who’s that?” His voice is tight, as though he spoke without moving his teeth.
“You don’t need to know that. Just walk.”
His back feels spongy, even through the thick layers of clothing. I poke him harder, and he starts moving. “Over there. To the left and into the blue door.”
“What’s going to happen in there?”
“Don’t ask questions.”
I prod him in the direction I want him to go.
Inside the bakery, Jack and Deandra have their kids in hand, about to leave.
They stare at me like I’m a monster. Deandra shuffles the kids behind her.
“So,” says Jack, “You finally show us who you are.”
“Not yet I haven’t,” I tell Jack. Turning, I motion behind me. The boys run out, their eyes huge.
“What’s going on?” Deandra says sharply.
I twist the pipe into Rory’s back, raising my eyes to Jack and Deandra. “All I ask is a few minutes of your time. I want you to come back inside, and sit and listen.”
Jack’s mouth sets into a grim line. “Let the soldier go, Ethan. You’re not helping yourself.”
I look down at the two boys. “Do you want me to let the soldier go?”
They shake their heads.
“Why don’t you want me to let him go?” I ask them.
“He’s not a soldier.” The eldest boy speaks with a fierceness that defies his age.
“Kids,” I tell Sam and Tommy, “these people here are a family I traveled with from Canada. They’re good people, but they don’t understand what’s really happening here. So I want you to tell them. They shot your parents, because your parents knew too much, didn’t they?”
Sam nods silently. The little one starts crying.
“Where’re you kids from?” I ask Sam.
“Milwaukee,” he answers.
“And how did you get here?”
“Lots of people were hiding out at my school. But the trucks came and got us.”
“Why were people hiding out?”
Sam presses his full lips together, pointing at Rory. “To get away from the bad people.”
I don’t want to ask the kid any more, but I’m sure he knows more. A lot more.
Jack and Deandra stare at each other from across the room.
I order Rory to go sit on a chair. He seats himself heavily on the only chair in the room, surprise dropping into his eyes as he looks over his shoulder and sees me. “You’re a kid.”
“Maybe. But I’ve been around your type for the past eighteen months. I know you. I know all about you.” His gaze drops to my hands and he sees there’s no gun. “I dunno what’s goin’ on here, but I’m heading back to camp.” He rises clumsily to his feet.
