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

by Hinkens, Norma

  I look around, frowning. A sea of ferns and brush stretches in every direction.

  A hint of suspicion crosses Blade’s face. “Where’s the ship at? I don’t see nothin’.”

  Mason wades forward into the undergrowth, drops down several feet into a depression, and reaches for a giant armful of loose brush. He tosses it aside and then digs around some more. “Help me move this stuff.”

  Blade and Lipsy hustle into the ferns and begin tearing at the brush and hurling it over their shoulders.

  I plow through the undergrowth after them, as eager as they are to see a Hovermedes up close.

  Mason works methodically, never quite taking his eyes off Blade. I’m sure Blade won’t try anything yet, not until he knows the Hovermedes is operational, but Mason’s not taking any chances.

  “There she is.” Mason steps back and looks around at us, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. I throw another armful of twigs aside and gape at the sleek, bus-length gunmetal body, peeking through the brush like a half-surfaced submarine.

  For a moment, I’m paralyzed with fear, and then a volt of anger surges through me. Jakob, Sam, so many others, some whose faces are already slipping from my memory, all extracted. It’s time to put this diabolical machine to good use and right some wrongs. Like finding Jakob and bringing him home. After that, the Rogues can do with it what they will.

  Mason straightens up and looks around. “Let’s see if she still flies.”

  Blade runs his bare hands down the seamless side of the Hovermedes. “Ain’t no door on this thing.”

  Mason bars his arms and stares at him. “First, we need to go over the ground rules.”

  Blade slams his fist on the side of the Hovermedes. “We ain’t got time for no seatbelt demo, you dumb hog. Rummy’s in trouble. Now open the bleedin’ door!”

  Mason widens his stance. “I got all the time in the world.”

  Lipsy shuffles from one foot to the other, watching from beneath drawn brows.

  Blade spits into the dirt. “Okay, soldier boy, I’m listenin’.”

  Mason gives a guarded smile. “Good, ‘cause once we’re on board, I’m in charge. No exceptions. No one touches the control panel, or attempts to operate the ship, other than myself.”

  Blade shrugs. “You wanna drive that badly, have at it.”

  Mason gives an abrupt nod and turns back to the Hovermedes. He traces his fingers lightly down the side, and then presses firmly on a spot halfway down the cigar-shaped barrel of the ship. I hold my breath waiting for a door to magically appear. Instead, the entire roof of the Hovermedes splits open with a pneumatic hum, and the sides glide apart like an armadillo snapped in half.

  “Yikes!” I take a step backward as the ship powers up and a strip of lights flicker on.

  Mason chuckles. “There is a retractable side door, but it’s easier to open it up all the way when we’re loading a group.” He turns to the others. “Let’s roll. To the rear. Stay behind me.”

  Before he can take a step, Blade shoves past him, and darts to the back of the ship. He grabs the metal sides of the opening, pulls himself up, and disappears inside.

  “Hey!” I yell, panic ballooning up inside me. “What’s he doing?” All my hopes of rescuing Jakob lie with this ship. If Blade takes control of it, I might never see Jakob again.

  Chapter 19

  Mason bolts past me to the rear of the ship just as Blade staggers back out. He wipes his mouth across his sleeve, and glares at Mason, his piercing glinting like a third eye. “Think that’s funny, road dog?”

  The look on Mason’s face tells me he’s as perplexed as I am.

  “You playin’ me for a sucker?” Blade waves his fist at Mason. “You knew that cat gone and croaked in there, didn’t you?”

  Mason turns to me, his voice low and urgent. “I’ll check it out. Keep your gun on him. Might be a ruse.”

  I clutch my rifle tighter and watch out of the corner of my eye as Mason climbs into the back of the Hovermedes.

  “I don’t like this,” Big Ed says. “Someone beat us here.” He adjusts the strap of his gun and peers around the dense undergrowth.

  “Hey!” Mason yells. “Grab the feet!”

  I race over to the Hovermedes and reach for the boots protruding through the entry. Men’s, about Owen's size. I glance up. A black knit cap is pulled down over the face. I shudder and adjust my sweaty grip.

  Mason grunts and lifts the arms. “Got him?”

  I give a tense nod and pull on the legs. We ease the body out and lay it down in the brush a few feet from the Hovermedes.

  “Poor bugger don’t smell yet,” Big Ed says, coming up behind me. “Can’t be dead more than a few hours.”

  Mason hunkers down and yanks the wool cap off. I gasp and take a step back, a searing pain steaming through my chest. Prat.

  “You know that sucker?” Blade leers at me.

  My chest tightens like it’s filling with sand. “He’s … he was our bunker chief.” I stare down at Prat’s pale face, the scant ginger-hued stubble on his chin a sad reminder that he was barely a man. Remorse for all the ugly thoughts I ever had about him washes over me. Prat and I never saw eye to eye, but at the end of the day, he was just another kid trying to do what he could to make a life for us. I’m learning it’s not so easy to lead.

  Mason smashes the knit cap in his fist, and hurls it into the trees.

  I blink rapidly, trying to process my thoughts. If Prat's dead, what about Da and the others? My stomach churns. Even if all Da does is drink, I need him just the same. He’s the only link I have left to Ma, the only one who can tell me stories about her, at least when he’s sober.

  Faces gesture in slow motion around me. Everyone’s talking at once, arguing over what went down. Blade shoves Big Ed in the chest. He stumbles backward, arms flailing for support. Mason grabs him, and then reaches for Blade and shoves him against the side of the Hovermedes.

  “Shut up and listen,” Mason yells in his face. “Whoever killed Prat could show up here any minute. That’s if the Sweepers don’t beat them to it. We need to load up and leave right now.”

  I glance up at the salmon-tinged sky. “How long will it take to get us airborne?” I ask.

  “Not long, if she starts right up. I’ll give it my best shot.” Mason flexes an uncertain smile, and then climbs on board.

  “You’re on lookout,” I say to Big Ed. “Blade and Lipsy, clear a spot in the brush so we can cover the body.”

  Blade lets out a snort of disgust. “I ain’t no gravedigger. Gimme back my gun and I’ll find the hog what did this and blow his brains out.”

  I level my gaze at him. “If you’re not done grave digging by the time Mason’s ready to fire up the Hovermedes, you can stay here and fist fight the hog who did this.”

  Blade throws me a dirty look, and then walks off, muttering to himself. Lipsy looks at me uncertainly and then hurries after him. I should try harder to reach out to her. She always looks so scared. And I could use a friend, even one with a stutter.

  I sling my gun over my shoulder and make my way over to Owen.

  “Do you think our bunker’s been outed?” he asks, his good eye misting over.

  I squeeze his shoulder gently. “I don’t know. Maybe the rest of them got away.”

  “Even Da?”

  “The Septites wouldn’t leave him behind.”

  Owen shakes his head. “If he hadn’t already drunk himself to death.”

  “That’s on his head.”

  A pained look flits across Owen's face. I feel a twinge of remorse for my harsh tone, but I’m done dragging the guilt for Da’s choices around with me. Eventually he’ll kill himself, if he’s not dead already. It’s a reality we both need to face.

  I tense at the sound of three electronic beeps, followed by a smooth whirring that fills the air with a peculiar energy. The hairs on the back of my neck quiver, even my teeth tingle deep in my jaw.

  “Let’s go,” Mason says, appearing at the rear
of the Hovermedes.

  “Hey! Wait a minute!” Blade tosses an armful of brush aside. “You want your pal here what got rubbed out to get his final resting place or not?”

  I slide my gaze in his direction. “Throw in a grave marker and we’ll wait for you.” I turn my back on him, and follow Mason to the rear of the Hovermedes. He jumps on board, reaches out a giant hand, and pulls me in.

  My jaw drops. Ten egg-shaped, pearlescent-white seats, lined with a matrix-like red cushioning, line both sides of a sleek center aisle. The entire surface area at the front of the ship—walls, floor, ceiling—is covered with a massive array of violet screens, flickering colored lights and electronic gauges. I shake my head in disbelief. “This thing is sick. It’s like walking around inside a lava lamp.”

  Mason grins. “Aerospace technology. These ships were designed for the world government under the guise of a mission-system upgrade. They used commercial space travel as their cover.”

  I run my hand along the back of the nearest seat. The material feels peculiar, sponge-like almost. Air intake ducts, shaped like rocket boosters, are recessed into the ceiling, and a flashing control panel nests in each armrest. I sink down into the nearest chair and press the button marked WÄRME. Warmth radiates through the chair, and the matrix-like material instantly molds itself to my body. Cocooned in the softness, I let out a sigh, and close my eyes.

  When I slide up in the seat again, I notice a sign at eye level, TRICHTER AKTIVIERUNG. I squint at it, groggy from the comforting heat of my chair. I can’t decipher it.

  I reach for the cabinet handle below the sign. Behind the small metal door is a red release pull. I pull my hand back and frown at the logo, trying to remember where I’ve seen TechnoTerra before.

  It hits me in a flash. The logo on the tubes. Trembling, I slam the cabinet door shut. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes, trying to rid my mind of the gruesome image of a retractable metal arm suctioning up Sam.

  “Derry!”

  I startle at the sound of Mason’s voice.

  “What are you waiting on? In-flight service? Go out there and round them up.”

  Owen limps his way to the back of the ship, brushing aside my attempt to help him. I can tell by the way he moves he’s in a world of pain, but at least he’s on his feet again. After we get him situated in the middle section of the Hovermedes, Big Ed herds Blade and Lipsy inside. Hands bound again behind their backs, they plonk down in a pair of egg-shaped seats, a mixture of apprehension and awe in their faces.

  “Everyone in?” Mason calls over his shoulder.

  I give him two thumbs up and lean back in my seat. The sides of the Hovermedes come together with a vacuum seal whoosh. I scrutinize the ceiling. It’s impossible to tell from here there’s an opening anywhere in the body of the ship.

  I lean into the aisle and crane my neck around to check on Owen. He’s already nodded off again, head flopped forward on his chest.

  “Derry, come up here with me!” Mason calls back to me.

  Blade jerks his chin at me. “Where you think you’re bleedin’ goin’?”

  I flash him a brassy grin. “Guess I’m your new co-pilot.”

  His features contort into a plaster cast of rage.

  I head up to the front of the ship before he explodes. I know better than to wind him up like that. I’m already a marked woman in his book, but the satisfaction I get from watching him squirm now that he’s not calling the shots is worth it.

  Mason sits hunched in front of a screen, sketching both forefingers over it in seemingly random circles. I watch him for a moment, frowning. “What are you doing?”

  “I just sent an encrypted message to my contact in the Craniopolis.” He looks up, a sober expression on his face. “Operation Jakob's officially a go.”

  I blink, feeling the weight of his words in my bones. There’s no turning back now. And, I don’t want to. I just hope we don’t arrive too late to save Jakob.

  “Listen to me carefully.” Mason lowers his voice. “The only way to get the Hovermedes up and running is by activating the launch button with a chip.”

  I glance over the vast array of dials and buttons. “So where’s the chip?”

  “It’s an implant. Every clone is chipped at inception. All I have to do to start the Hovermedes is slide my fingertip into the slot on the launch button.”

  My eyebrows shoot upward.

  Mason rubs a hand over his thickset jaw. “The reason I’m telling you this, is that if anything happens to me, you need to retrieve it.” He waves his right index finger in front of my nose.

  “What?” I shrink back. “You can’t mean for me to cut off your finger?”

  “Just slice the tip and look for a silver chip the size of a piece of corn.”

  I push his meaty finger out of view. “There’s no way I’m slicing you open, even if it is just a finger.”

  I pout my lip at him. “Anything else I should know?”

  He motions to the seat beside him. “Yeah. How to fly this baby.”

  “For real?”

  Mason’s eyes cloud over. “I’ll take us in to the Craniopolis, but there’s no guarantee we’re all coming back out.”

  “Time we was flyin’,” Blade yells around the back of a chair. “Get this lump o’ lead in the air! And have that doggone waitress bring me a cocktail.”

  Lipsy laughs. “Ma-ma-ma-make that two.”

  I arch a brow at Mason. “Do we really need them?”

  Mason throws me a reproving look. “You're balking at slicing a fingertip. Blade could slash throats in his sleep. And Lipsy can handle a gun. So, yes, we need them. Now pay attention.”

  He does have a point. I slide forward in my seat to get a closer look.

  “First you need to memorize the takeoff sequence.” He demonstrates a series of buttons in front of him. “Got that?”

  Before I can reply, I hear a scuffle at the back of the ship. Big Ed bellows out my name. Heart pounding, I race back down the aisle to find him desperately trying to wrestle something from Blade’s fingers. “Keep him still!” he grunts.

  I grab Blade’s wrists and hold them in place.

  Big Ed straightens up, clutching his prize. “Stinkin’ grave robber!” He holds out his hand. “Get a load of this.”

  Chapter 20

  I blink in confusion. It’s a piece of paper—torn from a notebook of some kind—with a single word in Prat's handwriting scrawled across it.

  Diesel.

  “I heard him telling Lipsy ‘bout the stuff he found in Prat's pockets," Big Ed says.

  My lungs squeeze together. I lean over Blade’s face. “What else did you take?”

  Blade's face splits in a broad sneer. “You gonna dance with me ’bout some dead dude’s junk?”

  Big Ed taps his cheek from behind with the muzzle of his gun. “Answer her.”

  The tattoos on Blade’s neck twitch under the cold steel. He hesitates and then reaches awkwardly beneath his coat and pulls out a small leather sack I recognize as Prat's.

  I snatch it from him and tip the contents out on a seat on the opposite side of the aisle. I rake through the miscellaneous items, trying to ignore the guilt I feel for invading Prat’s privacy. A watch with a dead battery, a dog-eared photo of Prat and his parents at Disneyland, an insignia pin from a high school debate club—miscellaneous pieces that prove he was once a participant in life. I swallow back a sob. I’ve often wished I had some of Ma’s things to remind me of her.

  I crush the paper in my hand and glare at Blade. His eyes flash me a silent message of hate in return. Somewhere along the way, I crossed a line with him. Given half a chance he’d slit my throat, and I’d better not forget that, even for one minute.

  “Keep a close eye on him,” I say to Big Ed.

  I walk back up the aisle and hand the note to Mason. “This was in Prat's coat. He must have figured if he didn’t make it, at least we’d know who killed him.”

  Mason grimaces. “So Diesel made
it here before us. We wasted too much time dragging the river for bodies. We should have kept up the pace and got here sooner.”

  I rub my hands briskly over my face. “We have to make sure the rest of the Undergrounders are okay. Da, and Kat.”

  “We can’t stop at the bunker now,” Mason says. “It’s light out. Another Hovermedes might spot us.”

  “That’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

  “What about Jakob?” Mason throws me a harried look. “We’re running out of time to save him.”

  A huge sob wells up inside me. The closer I get to seeing him again, the greater the fear of losing him becomes. But Prat’s death has me worried for everyone now. “Jakob would want me to make sure his parents were safe,” I say, swallowing back my tears. I’m worried about Tucker too. If he did find his way back to the bunker safely, he may not have food or water.

  Mason gives me an infuriated look. “Belt up,” he says, turning back to the controls.

  Without warning, the Hovermedes lurches forward. I roll on my heels before falling clumsily backward into my chair. I fumble around in vain for a seatbelt.

  Mason gestures to the armrest. “Control panel.”

  I tap the seat icon on the screen. Out of nowhere, a harness writhes diagonally across my chest in both directions and plugs into slots in the seams of the chair—slots I swear weren’t there a moment ago. Pulse thudding, I sink back against the cushioning as we build up speed.

  I’m supposed to be learning how to fly this thing, but Mason appears to have changed his mind about that now that I’ve diverted the mission. I can’t blame him for being upset with me. The last time I ignored his advice, Reid and Becca escaped. And now they’re dead. Maybe not a bad thing for us, but they didn’t deserve to die the way they did.

  Frustrated, I slide down in my seat and study the menu on the screen. I scroll through the choices and click English on the languages option. Comfort controls mainly—heat, light and incline—but a few are more obscure. I shrug and select Periscopic Infrared.

  A clear convex disc the size of a dinner plate descends in front of my face. When my fingers graze the edge, it recoils like a living thing, lights up, and powers on.