Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel)

by Hinkens, Norma

  There’s no condemnation in his tone, but I still blink guiltily. “There's not much to talk about. He … slipped.” My face flushes and I’m thankful for the shadows.

  “You gotta let it go, Derry. There was nothing you could have done.” He leans forward and stokes the fire with a stick. “Mason knew the crossing was risky.”

  I press my thumbs hard into my aching temples. The kindness in his voice only makes the guilt worse.

  “He was scared of heights,” I stammer. “But I said it anyway.”

  Big Ed frowns. “Said what?”

  “I told him to drop dead.” Tears slide silently down my cheeks. “Then he jumped.”

  Big Ed’s eyes grow wide. “Jumped?”

  I give a glum nod. “He let go of the cable and pushed himself backward.”

  Big Ed rams his stick into the embers and it snaps, the sound ricocheting around us.

  “It was my fault,” I say, my insides numbing over. “I was taunting him to do it.”

  Big Ed frowns at me, his ordinarily rheumy eyes hard like steel. “Whatever you’re guilty of, that sucker killed himself.”

  He reaches for his hat and gets to his feet with a grunt. “I’m going to set some snares. With a bit of luck, we’ll have fresh meat by morning. Get some rest.”

  I pull off my boots and crawl into my sleeping bag, peering out at Big Ed’s silhouette as he disappears into the trees. He can try all he wants to make me feel better, but what I did to Mason was unforgivable. So far I don’t much like the person I’m becoming. I close my eyelids and immediately begin to drift, marinating in the scent of burning wood.

  “Derry! Wake up!”

  I spring into a sitting position, my arms still tucked inside my sleeping bag. My nose twitches at the tantalizing aroma of cooked meat.

  “There’s a storm brewing,” Big Ed says. “We need to get moving.” He takes a mouthful of water from his canteen, rinses and spits in the dirt. “The Rogues are camped up ahead.”

  My chest heaves like it’s set in cement and straining to break free. “Did you see Owen?” I hurriedly slide my legs out of the sleeping bag and fumble around for my boots.

  “No, just a couple of Rogues on patrol.”

  I cram my sleeping bag into my stuff sack, cinch the straps on my backpack, and zip the mesh pocket closed.

  “Here.” Big Ed hands me a bowl of rabbit stew. “Eat this while I bury the fire.”

  I slop the food into my mouth and swallow as much as I can without chewing. My stomach recoils, but I force myself to chug it down. I need the energy for what’s to come. Big Ed pulls apart our brush beds and scatters fistfuls of pine needles around the hollow.

  Five minutes later, we’re underway. The thin slit of morning that appeared between the tips of the trees and the horizon has disappeared, and the sky is caked with clouds the color of bruises. A horsefly buzzes past my ear and I swat and holler at it.

  Big Ed turns around and motions at me to be quiet.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, as the first drop of rain splatters on my head.

  Within minutes, the sky’s unloading everything it’s got on us. I trudge forward, head down, focusing on Big Ed’s muddy footprints. Soon the wind kicks up, vicious and high-pitched, slapping around everything in its path. The trail quickly turns to mush. As we veer downward into the valley, rain slices sideways at my face. I squelch my way forward, barely able to make out Big Ed’s outline bobbing up ahead.

  He halts at a stump and signals for me to find cover. Another patrol? I duck silently into a clump of trees and press myself against a towering trunk, listening to the sound of my own breathing, and the pummel of raindrops on the leaves around me. I wait for his wood thrush whistle, but instead he appears behind me, silent as a ghost.

  “All clear. Their camp is just over that ridge.” He tilts his head in the direction he came from. “I reckon they’re making their way south to Lewis Falls.”

  He moves forward again in a half-crouch and motions for me to do the same.

  The ground churns beneath my feet, mud oozing over the top of my boots like treacle. I have a bad feeling about how quickly the trail washed out. This could turn into a raging flash floods in minutes. Another limb of lightning lights up the sky, and I tense as I wait for the inevitable crack of thunder. Each step is slower and heavier as I flounder after Big Ed through ankle-deep water, rain sheeting down on me.

  He turns around and yells something at me, but it’s swallowed up in another thunderous bellow. He clambers onto a tree stump and gestures upward. Climb!

  I turn and plunge through the goo, now reaching to my knees. I make for the nearest pine and grab onto one of the thick boughs, grunting as I swing myself up. I claw my way up higher, my soaked pack hampering my movements. Exhausted, I flatten myself against the trunk and cast a wary glance at the writhing mud bath below.

  A dull terrifying rumble fills the valley. A moment later a wall of nut-brown water, studded with tree limbs and rocks, razes the stump where Big Ed had stood.

  Chapter 10

  My arms are stiff and useless when I finally unwrap them from the tree trunk I’ve been cradling. It’s eerily silent beneath me, quiet as an ocean graveyard. The flood retreated as suddenly as it surfaced, leaving a trail of forest guts in its wake.

  “Big Ed! Big Ed!”

  I call out his name several more times before I shinny down from my perch. My boots sink all the way into the silt left behind. Shivering, I begin ploughing through the mud toward the ridge. After fifty feet or so, I throw off my pack and lean forward on my thighs to catch my breath.

  Something flaps in the brush. I reach over to grab it, and my heart stalls.

  It’s a cowboy hat, caked in mud, the snakeskin band dangling from it like entrails.

  A wave of panic curls around my gut. “Big Ed! Where are you?” I yell until my throat is raw, and then sink to my knees, sobbing silently. I crumple the snakeskin in my fist, and double over with grief.

  A foot slams into my stomach and I fall onto my side, sucking for air.

  “On your feet!” A bone-crushing hand latches onto me and hauls me upright. “Who are you?”

  “Derry Connolly. Don’t hurt me, please,” I gasp, holding my stomach with one hand. I tilt my chin up and squint at my attacker. Dark eyes in a shaved skull, flay me like razorblades. A ragged scar gouges its way from the left corner of the man’s lip to a half-missing brow. Both sides of his long, corded neck are tattooed with lightning bolts and a pair of crossed cleavers. My mind floods with fear.

  A Rogue.

  “Who’s Big Ed?” The man’s voice cracks like a whip.

  I flinch. “My … my dog. The thunder scared him. He … he took off.”

  “What are you doin’ out here?”

  I squeeze my brows together in what I hope is a forlorn expression. “Sweepers—they found our camp.”

  The Rogue studies my face for a minute, and then pats me down. I grimace, violated as much by his lecherous grin as his roving hands. My heart sinks when he pulls my gun from my backpack. He removes the magazine and empties the chamber in one seamless move.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to weigh up how much immediate danger I’m in.

  The skinhead’s cold, flat eyes meet mine. “They call me Blade.”

  He glowers at me, forcing the metal piercings in his brow into a menacing “V.” The jagged scar channels deeper into his cheek.

  I take a step backward. I think I know why he goes by Blade, but I don’t ask for confirmation.

  “Get your pack on. We’re moving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He shoves me in front of him by way of response.

  My fear explodes. I’m guessing he’s taking me to his camp. My legs shake with every step. If the rest of the Rogues are anything like him, they’ll show no mercy. Tears prickle my eyes. I force them back, determined not to show weakness.

  We trudge for a mile or so beyond the ridge before I hear voices. Blade ha
lts and whistles loudly, and after waiting for three short whistles in response, he marches me forward again. My breath sticks in my throat when several shadowy figures with Glocks and M16s close in behind.

  Rigid with fear, I walk mechanically, avoiding eye contact. After a few minutes I chance a glance around. I’m relieved to see a couple of women in the group, although they’re tatted up too, and almost as menacing looking as the men. Most of them have dark beanies pulled down low over their eyes, but I’m guessing they’re skinheads like Blade.

  We reach a clearing and I spot the camp tucked up to the left of the path the flash flood has gouged out to the river.

  I cast another glance around. Big Ed’s nowhere in sight. I hope he managed to evade the patrol—if he’s still alive.

  A tall, thin-lipped man with a graffitied, cleft chin and a tight mustache approaches. He jerks his head in a questioning way.

  Blade scowls at me. “Says she was looking for her mutt.”

  The thin-lipped man flashes me a cold smile and then yanks my rucksack off my back. He empties the contents onto the ground and kicks at the pile with his steel-toed boot. Blade reaches into the mesh side pocket of my pack and grabs Big Ed’s cowboy hat. I try to snatch it from him, but he tightens his spring-loaded grip on my arm until I writhe in agony.

  “Get a load of this, Rummy.” Blade tosses the hat to the thin-lipped man. “Kid was holding it when I found her.”

  Rummy walks over to me, and snaps the brim taut in front of my face. “This yours, Butterface?” He cocks his head expectantly, but I take too long to answer. He drops the hat onto my head where it promptly slips over my eyes. I push the brim up with one finger and flinch at Rummy’s steely expression. His thin lips curve into a sneer. “Must be the dawg’s, eh?” He throws back his head and howls with laughter. Blade lets out a snort, watching me through narrowed slits.

  “Tie her up,” Rummy says. “She ain’t alone. We'll double the patrols.” He snaps his fingers at Blade and walks off.

  Blade kicks aside my rucksack and marches me past several tents before motioning for me to sit down by a smoldering fire pit. He secures my ankles and wrists, and then sits back and stokes the embers. I throw a furtive glance over at him and scoot closer to the fire. If I’m going to learn anything about the Rogues, Blade’s probably my best shot. I clear my throat nervously. “Rummy’s not much of a talker, is he?”

  Blade flicks a dispassionate gaze over me. “How’d you spring the sweep?”

  I raise my brows. “What?”

  “You said Sweepers found your camp.” Blade sneers at me. “Greener like you couldn’t bust her way outta a sweep.”

  I eye him warily. “I jammed the tube with a boulder.”

  Blade’s face goes slack. He stares at me for a moment and then jumps to his feet. “Don’t even think about trying to make a run for it. Remember, I’m strapped up and you ain’t.” He slaps his holstered gun by way of demonstration and strides off in the direction of the tents.

  I stare into the shadows after him. Have I just signed my death warrant? Or is this going to work in my favor? After all, the Rogues have got to be as desperate as we are to find a way to stop the extractions.

  I straighten up and check out my surroundings. I need to have the area mapped in my brain in case there’s any chance of escape. I’m only twenty feet from the tree line, but even if I could make a run for it, I’d have to navigate a belt of jagged boulders left behind by the flash flood. I shiver. The Rogues won’t hesitate to slit me ear to ear if they catch me trying to escape.

  I wonder what they’re planning to do with me. If they’re recruiting Undergrounders, I’ll have no choice but to play along. I wince when I think of the tattoos on the women’s faces. Maybe they’ll ink me as part of the initiation. Ma would roll over in her grave. If she had one, that is. I choke back a sob. I wish I could feel her comforting arm around my shoulders right now.

  A few minutes later Blade and Rummy come back into view. Rummy cracks his neck from side to side and stares intently at me. My blood runs cold. I’m not sure if he’s telegraphing a desire to snap my neck, or if it’s just some kind of tic he’s developed to intimidate his victims. He walks over and hunkers down in front of me. I let my gaze travel down to his tattooed fingers, relieved to see he’s not wearing brass knuckles.

  He rubs his eyebrow back and forth, rippling the skin above his piercings.

  “How’d you know to jam the tube with a boulder?”

  I throw a sidelong glance at Blade. He passes his grubby hand over his shaved head, and my own scalp prickles.

  I shrug. “Lucky guess.”

  Rummy crunches forward, almost as if he doesn’t want Blade eavesdropping on us. He wrinkles his brow, and I stare, creeped out and fascinated, as the tattoos on his forehead fold into a murky kaleidoscope.

  “Thing is, snitch, I know you’re lying.”

  Snitch? Reid’s lifeless body flashes to mind. My palms sweat profusely behind my back. If that’s what Rummy thinks I am, it’s over. My only hope is to convince him I’m more valuable to him alive than dead, that I know something about the sweeps he doesn’t.

  “You’ve never dodged a sweep?” I feign a laugh.

  Rummy tightens his lips in a thin cord of disapproval.

  I fix a bemused look on him, blood pounding in my swollen wrists. “You look like the kind of guy would have figured out—”

  Suddenly a searing pain hits and my jaw swivels sideways. Two displaced Rummies dance before me, then the salty taste of blood fills my mouth.

  Rummy clasps my throbbing jaw and squeezes it between his fingers like I’m a zit he’s trying to pop. “Lemme show you what happens to suckers what diss me.” He snaps his fingers and Blade slices the cord around my wrists and ankles in a lightning fast move with a knife that suddenly appears like an extension of his arm. He grabs me and hauls me to my feet.

  Rummy strides off, Blade half-dragging me after him.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” I beg. “I was just trying to help.”

  We stop outside a small two-man tent and Blade shoves me to my knees. My throat constricts with fear. He reaches for the nylon door flap, folds it back, and forces my head inside. “Welcome to the hole.”

  I sway back and forth, disoriented and dizzy from the blow to my jaw. The stench of sweat permeates the space. I blink to accustom my eyes to the darkness. There’s a body, gagged and bound, lying at the back of the tent. A corpse? Someone kicks me from behind. Tentatively, I crawl forward. The man’s eyes are swollen shut like two purple grapes. His head is shaved, but it’s hard to tell if he’s tattooed because his bruised skin is so mottled. A dry web of blood laces his face, crusting on his bulging nose and smashed right ear. His chest moves up and down, but I’m guessing by his uneven breathing that some of his ribs are broken. My heart races. Lemme show you what happens to suckers what diss me. I back slowly out of the tent on clammy palms.

  That’s when I see the grimy orange backpack stashed in the corner.

  Chapter 11

  I press my knuckles to my lips. Fragments of rational thought explode in my head. Owen! I wheeze like I’m dying, unable to catch a breath, vaguely aware that Blade is stringing syllables into unintelligible words. I collapse in the dirt, silently screaming my brother’s name.

  “Git up!” Blade yells. He tucks the toe of his steel-toed boot beneath my torso and flips me onto my back. Blood trickles into my throat and I sit up and spit out another mouthful of gunk. My face pulsates with pain.

  Rummy rolls up some kind of cigarette and lights it, watching me with half-lidded eyes. I rock forward, violent chills running through my limbs. I can’t let them know they have my brother. They’ll use it against us.

  Rummy takes a drag of his cigarette. “That sucker told me the same boulder wack you did. Blowing smoke ’bout ‘scaping from Sweepers.”

  I gingerly touch the back of my hand to my swollen lips. “It’s true.”

  “Prove it.” Blade leans in clo
se. “Prove you’re not just a filthy Sweeper snitch.”

  I rack my brains for something to tell him. Something that will give these thugs no option but to keep me alive. One thing comes to mind, but it’s a huge gamble. I fix my gaze on Blade. “I can take you to a Sweeper ship.”

  He raises his brows and glances at Rummy before turning his attention back to me. Rummy tosses his cigarette on the ground, grinds it beneath his boot, and heads my way, his face expressionless.

  “It crashed,” I stammer, as Rummy gets closer. “I can show you—”

  He lunges for my throat and squeezes hard, cutting off my air supply. “I swear I’ll pop your eyeballs out of their sorry sockets if you’re jerkin’ my chain.” He shakes me loose and hovers over me while I writhe around and catch my breath. “Where's this ship at?”

  I make a gurgling sound. My throat feels like it’s been cinched tighter than a bronc’s saddle. I might just have made the biggest mistake of my life. What if there is no Hovermedes? If Mason was lying about the abandoned ship, Owen and I are as good as dead. But I’m committed now. If the Hovermedes exists, I have to find it. I take a shallow breath. “A few miles east of my bunker.”

  “Ain’t that convenient?” Rummy juts his chin at me, his features hard and impenetrable. “How’d it get there, Butterface?”

  I hesitate, toying with several plausible answers. None that involve Mason. I’m reluctant to give him everything I know in case I need information to barter with later on. The Rogues will only keep me alive as long as I’m useful to them.

  “We dragged it out of the river,” I say.

  Rummy narrows his eyes at me until I feel my pupils dilate. I’m so tired I could collapse right now and sleep in the dirt, but I will myself to stare him down.

  He rewards me with a stinging slap across the jaw. “You mad dogging me or what?”

  I shake my head fervently, eyes now firmly planted on the ground. My jaw pulsates with pain. I’m learning the hard way not to challenge him in any way.