“You can tell me how!” I push against him and kick as hard as I can. Oliver has let go of me, so maybe this is working.
“Clementine, stop,” Beechy says.
There’s a loud sound of suction. I stop struggling and whip my head back to the transport door.
The escape pod has been sealed shut.
Oliver is inside it.
Beechy lets go of me now. Maybe they planned this, maybe he knew this was going to happen because he doesn’t move. Or maybe he doesn’t know what to do.
I run. We’re right near the doorway, but I can’t get there fast enough.
“Oliver!” I scream.
He’s sitting in the pilot seat. He runs his trembling hands through his hair. I can’t see his face. I need to see his face.
I jam a finger on the button and press it. I pound a fist against the cold glass. The door won’t budge.
“Stop!” I scream again, hitting the glass so hard my hand might break.
He leans over the dashboard, tapping several buttons in consecutive order. A faint whir catches my ears. The engine turns on.
“No, please…” I blink fast.
He glances at me with red, watery eyes. “It’s okay,” he says. The glass muffles his voice to almost nothing.
“It’s not.”
“Someone has to do this.” He takes a shaky breath. “Beechy has Sandy and his kid. You have someone, but me, I’ve got no one.”
“You have me.”
“I’m glad,” he whispers.
I spread my fingers apart on the window. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“Don’t be.”
There’s another sound of suction, louder this time. The escape pod detaches from the part of the ship where I’m standing, revealing its round black body with K-I-M-O painted on one side and the missile head poking out of the other. There’s only one glass door left between me and the vacuum of space.
I don’t hear Oliver crying, but I can see the tears running from his eyes. He turns away and grips a lever to maneuver the pod to the left, toward the generator, until I can no longer see his face or his ship from this window. Until he’s left me behind.
I spin around. Beechy’s gone; he must’ve already gone back to the cockpit to fly us away.
No no no no …
One rung at a time, I haul myself down the ladder until my feet touch the floor. The world tilts. I think it’s just my head. But I don’t stop running.
Beechy sits in the cockpit, fiddling with dials and easing back the flight clutch. His hands fumble; there are dots of sweat on his face, or maybe they’re tears. Our ship turns away from the moon and the generator. The one-man transport flies past us to the right and pushes onward.
The numbers on the dash read:
00:05:03
“We have to stop him.”
Beechy doesn’t say anything at all.
I don’t take my eyes off the window. When our ship turns around all the way, I switch the weapon monitor to the rear guns so I can still see the pod.
In my ears, the beep of the countdown grows louder and louder. Amidst the hazy pink darkness of space through the monitor, the round ship moves farther and farther away, ever closer to the steel tower surrounded by mist.
I can’t tell when he gets there, when he reaches the generator. I pray he got close enough.
A cloud of gray smoke erupts from the generator site, consuming everything around it, all the acid gas and the space dust too. The smoke spreads far, far out, and I’m afraid it’s going to swallow us whole. But we’re moving fast enough to escape it.
Oliver isn’t. He’s gone.
When we’re safely on course, Beechy stands and wraps his arms around me, and I shake my head over and over and sob into his shoulder. I don’t know if he gets it. I don’t know if he understands.
Oliver is gone forever, this isn’t another test. Oliver, who tried to save me from Sam. Oliver, who helped me feel better when I was scared about everything.
It’s partly my fault he’s dead.
Words tumble into my head and play over and over, and make me cry even harder:
To the krail’s caw, to star song
In the field, love, we’ll dance
‘Til the moon is long gone
Until the world ends
42
Our ship rockets away from the moon, back to Kiel. I see the stars in the rearview monitor and picture Oliver’s body floating among them. But in truth, his body is broken. He’s gone someplace I can’t follow.
I cry until I have no tears left. I imprint his face in my head because I don’t want to forget it: his messy brown hair; the eyeglasses he insisted on keeping; his wide eyes the color of a blue sky.
I hope he’s someplace better. I hope he’s safe, wherever he is, maybe even happy.
I hope Laila and Ella will take care of him.
*
We’re nearing Kiel’s atmosphere when I see it: a shimmering dome enclosing our bluish-golden planet. The acid shield is back up.
But beyond the shield, the sky is still riddled with acid. It paints the clouds a dark pink color, like a deadly sunset. I wonder how much acid seeped into the atmosphere before Charlie turned the shield back on. I wonder how long it will take for all of it to clear from the air.
I wonder how many people already died.
Not Logan, please. I swallow hard and count to three hundred to fight back the worry.
The mountains below us grow larger through the window, until I could touch the snow on their peaks if I could reach the glass.
“Where are we going?” I ask Beechy.
“A rendezvous point in the mountains,” he says, easing the clutch sideways so we won’t hit the snow. His jaw is tense, and his eyes red. “Whatever rebels are left will meet us there. And we’ll figure out what our next step is.”
I stare at the acid shield in the rearview monitor, my stomach churning with acid of its own. I already know what I’m going to do. I’m going to kill Charlie.
I’m going to make him pay for everyone he stole from me, and all the lies he told.
Below us, the mountains dip to form a river valley lit by rays of red sunlight. White rapids swirl in the water, tumbling over rocks. Trees with black leaves and thick, gnarled branches form a small forest.
This valley looks untouched by humans, almost impossible. Like something out of a dream.
We hover to a landing in a forest clearing beside the river. Beechy turns the engine off, and the cockpit falls silent.
My heart still beats too fast. One hundred and thirty-two beats per minute, I count, and breathe to try to slow it down because it’s not good for me. I must continue to focus.
“Could we wait for them outside?” I ask. It seems like it’s been a long time since I’ve felt wind or sunlight.
“Okay, but we’ll need safety suits first,” Beechy says, pushing out of his seat, “unless you want to fry in that acid. There should be several on board.”
I follow him down the passageway, along the corridor with the bunk room and the engine room. Inside the bunk room, he opens a cupboard in the wall and pulls out two white suits that look like space suits, but lighter.
We pull them on over our clothes and zip them up. The fabric feels smooth and cool against my skin. He helps me secure the clear helmet over my head, and I help him put on his. I press a button on the suit, and the small machine attached to my back lets oxygen flow into my helmet.
For a second I’m back in the Core room with the water tank, about to dive down deep to visit the vul. Oliver is alive again.
I blink and he’s dead.
Back in the main passageway, Beechy uses the control panel on the wall to open the cargo lift. As the door zips open, wind whips into the ship. I half expect it to carry me away, high up into the sky, back to the moon maybe. I almost wish it would.
But Beechy’s gloved hand grips mine, keeping me from flying away.
We walk dow
n the ramp onto the grass. The clouds are darker than they should be. Rain might be coming. Even with the protective suit on, the wind is cold. I shiver and Beechy puts his arms around me, pulling me as close as he can with these bulky suits on. My eyes scan the sky for flight pods or hovercrafts. I listen for the sound of their engines.
“What if they don’t come?” I can’t hide the crack in my voice.
“We’ll find them,” Beechy says. “We’re almost out of fuel though, so we’ll have to get more. There’s a place within walking distance where we can get some.”
“What sort of place?”
“A camp. A hidden base where some of the rebels have been staying, preparing to fight Charlie.”
I almost don’t believe him. A place like that sounds safe, and I didn’t think there were any safe places on the Surface, except maybe the adult city.
A drop of water hits my helmet. Then another, until the rain drenches us and the grass and I’m grateful for the suit. It might be my imagination, but the water seems to have a pinkish tint to it. Acid.
It’s not going to be safe to walk outside without these suits for a while.
The whir of a sky engine reaches my ears.
I pull away from Beechy, every nerve ending raw. It might not be Logan. It might be Cady or one of the other rebels, but it could be him. I need to see him. He needs to be alive.
Please.
Please.
Please.
The flight pod slows, hovering lower and lower until it lands not far from us in the grass. The wind from its rotors rustles the fabric of my suit.
And I see him.
Logan scrambles out of his seat, wearing a suit like mine. He fumbles to open the door.
I’m already running.
I reach the pod at the same time he emerges from it.
Then he’s here and holding me again. There’s blood clotted in his hair and too many scrapes on his cheeks, but he’s alive and he’s touching me and we’re both shaking because we can’t believe this. I wish we didn’t need these stupid helmets. I want his lips on my mouth and his hands in my hair. I want to kiss him forever and ever and ever.
“I didn’t think we’d make it back.”
“I thought you were gone,” he says. “I thought you blew up, or the acid got you. What happened?”
Tears well up in my eyes, and I don’t stop them. “We flew to the moon. We destroyed the generator. But Oliver’s gone, Logan. He was my friend, and he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s Charlie’s fault—we have to stop him. He’ll try something like this again—I know it.”
“We will.”
Behind him, Beechy climbs into the pod, and Sandy throws her arms around him. Her laughter mingles with her tears.
Logan slips his gloved fingers through mine, and we move to join Beechy and Sandy in the pod. We’re going to the rebel base now. The others are already there, waiting.
Inside, I slip into the passenger seat beside Logan and take off my helmet. He takes off his.
We kiss as the pod lifts off the ground. His hands tangle in my curls. Our breaths mingle. He tastes like hope, like every good thing I’ve ever lost.
I am never letting him go.
I lean my head against his shoulder and clutch his arm. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth until my heart isn’t skipping beats anymore.
Until I can almost believe everything is going to be okay.
But I know this won’t last. Charlie will come up with another plan to bring war to Marden, one that might involve too much death.
He’ll realize I didn’t die up there. He’ll come for me or he’ll send Sam to put a bullet through my head.
But I’ll be ready.
*
Outside, one of the mountains rises like a giant before us. Its peak is too high for me to see it through the clouds, but I’m sure there’s snow up there. We hover low above the trees, making for the mountain wall close to the ground.
I’m almost afraid we’re going to crash into it, but there’s an opening in the rock. A gap where a skinny branch of river slithers into the mountain.
The opening is just big enough for us to enter. We fly slowly into the darkness. The blue lights of our pod flash on the cave walls, onto places where water drips on the rock, onto narrow entrances to passageways where bad things might be waiting.
Then there’s a speck of light ahead. It’s as small as a star at first, but it grows in the window, until I see that it’s not just one light but many: a row of lights dotting the cave walls on either side. These walls are made of steel.
There’s another wall at the end of the tunnel. A giant doorway with words written on it. The letters look like someone painted them, but it must’ve been a long time ago because the paint has faded.
With the help of the other tunnel lights, I can piece together the words:
K.I.M.O. CORPORATION
EST. 30 RC
WE FIGHT TO JOURNEY HOME
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is the book of my heart. It would not have been possible without the help of numerous individuals.
First, I owe a planet of thanks to my agent, Alison Fargis, who believed in me when I was close to giving up. Equal thanks are offered to Kathy Huck, my brilliant editor. You both helped me turn this story into the one I truly wanted to tell.
Thank you to the whole team of designers, marketers, publicists, and book lovers at St. Martin’s Press for helping me share my story. Thank you also to the lovely ladies at Stonesong for your support and enthusiasm.
All the words in all the books cannot express my thanks to Jennifer Rhee, my best friend and confidante. Thank you for your patience, your guidance, and your laughter. Emma Castor and Karen Casteloes, thank you for reading my work, even when it was horrible. Ashley Harger, thank you for being one of my first readers, and my very first friend.
My deepest gratitude to Kelly Kehoe, John Hansen, MarcyKate Connolly, and all the others who saw Extraction through its good days and bad days, and helped it grow. Ríoghnach Robinson, thank you for your wit. I’ll never forget that your words inspired this novel.
Many thanks to the wonderful community at Agent Query Connect, and to all my fabulous Twitter friends.
Thank you to the teachers who encouraged me to pursue my dreams over the years, especially Gloria Ciriza, Robert Kaechele, John Graber, Peter Cirino, and Stuart Voytilla. Thank you to the teachers whose lectures I failed to pay attention to because I was writing. (I truly apologize.)
Mom, Dad, Daniel, Elisabeth, Julianne, and extended family, thank you for your endless love and support. Michelle, thank you for the stories you shared with me when we were young, which inspired me to become a writer.
Thank you, God, for I am nothing without you.
And thank you, reader. I hope this book will help you as much as it helped me.
DON’T MISS THE NEXT INSTALLMENT IN THE
EXTRACTION SERIES
REBELLION
Available in 2015
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Twenty-one-year-old STEPHANIE DIAZ wrote her debut novel, Extraction, when she should’ve been making short films and listening to college lectures at San Diego State University. When she isn’t lost in books, she can be found singing, marveling at the night sky, or fan-girling over TV shows. You can visit her online at www.stephaniediazbooks.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
EXTRACTION. Copyright © 2014 by Stephanie Diaz. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover designed by James Iacobelli
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premiu
m Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Diaz, Stephanie, 1992–
Extraction / Stephanie Diaz.—First edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-250-04117-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-46683732-4 (e-book)
1. Science fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction. I. Title.
PZ7.D5453ex 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2014008534
eISBN 9781466837324
First Edition: July 2014
Extraction Page 33
