My jaw drops. In the disc I can see every magnified inch of the forest terrain we’re hovering over. The view and range is unrestricted, almost as if the entire underbelly of the ship is a giant lens. The resolution of the images is remarkable, no blurring or shaking, despite our increasing speed. Through the thick canopy of brush and trees, every bird and animal is captured as an infrared image and analyzed in the bottom left corner; species, weight, height, age, temperature, each flashing onto the disc in quick succession.
I watch, fascinated by the unending stream of data. “Is this how the Hovermedes searches for Undergrounders?” I ask Mason.
He gives a terse nod, but doesn’t even look in my direction.
I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the disc. If the Sweepers are able to scan us and assess all our vitals before they pick us up, it explains how they’re able to target the young.
I tap on the image of a deer that flashes onto the screen.
“Might not want to—” Mason sighs. “Too late.”
A hologram of a white head with no distinguishable facial features materializes in front of me. I shrink back in horror. For one crazy moment, I think I’ve conjured up a Sweeper. Lips form like a sand dune in the ghostlike head. An electronic voice fills the cabin.
Funnel activation request. Confirm extraction.
I yank my shaking fingers away from the screen in my armrest and recoil from the freakish image in front of my face. “Help me, Mason! How do I turn this thing off?” I wriggle to slide out of my chair, but my harness tightens like a boa constricting its coils.
The mouth in the head moves like animated clay, lip-syncing to the electronic voice, Extraction denied.
The hologram flat lines and fades from sight. I stare at the spot for a moment longer, half-afraid the head might reappear. I swat the space in front of me for good measure.
“I overrode your permissions,” Mason says, a grin playing on his lips. “The last thing we need is to bag a deer.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Beats hunting with a gun.”
“Sweepers don’t hunt. Their food is lyopholized.”
“Ly—what?”
“Dehydrated, macrobiotic nutrients—scientific junk food I call it now that I know better.”
I twist my lips in disgust. “Guess we won’t be dining out at the Craniopolis.”
“Won’t be there long enough if everything goes according to plan.”
“Speaking of a plan, you’re supposed to be teaching me how to fly this thing. I’ve got a million questions.”
“Shoot!”
“You said the ships hover above the ground and draw from the earth’s core, but we’ve got to be close to two hundred feet up in the air right now.”
“For short periods of time we can leave the electromagnetic suspension system and fly at a higher altitude on battery packs. Right now I’m taking the quickest route to the bunker, even though it means depleting the batteries.”
“Can the tubes extract through trees?” I ask.
Mason shakes his head. “Not without damaging the equipment and potentially killing the target. Which kind of defeats the purpose of an extraction.”
I swallow back the bile that rises up my throat. Of course they need to bring their targets in alive. All that talk of body parts and medical experimentation swishes around inside my brain. I can’t bear to think of what the Sweepers might end up doing to Jakob if he resists them—pirate his DNA, harvest his organs even. A shiver runs down my back. I can’t imagine his heart beating in anyone else’s chest. Not after I’ve felt it beating next to mine.
“That’s our camp up ahead.” Mason points down into a clearing. I lean forward and furrow my brow. My eyesight’s good, but nowhere near as good as his enhanced vision. I can tell by the way his knuckles tighten on the control shift that something’s wrong. “What is it?”
“Hatch is open.”
I grip the armrests on my chair. The sun’s been up for a while. If the hatch is open, either the Undergrounders have abandoned the bunker, or they’re all dead.
The Hovermedes slows to a soft whirring and then drops.
A slight vibration goes through my seat as the ship touches down. Mason cuts the engine and presses a sequence of buttons. A sliding panel retracts into itself on the left side of the ship.
I jump up out of my seat and hurry back to Big Ed. He looks up at me from somewhere inside the folds of skin that seem to have mushroomed over his face in the past few days.
“I’ll check the bunker,” I say. “You got the Rogues under control?”
He nods and pats his gun.
Mason comes up behind me, a taut expression on his face. “Diesel might be down there.”
I flick the safety off my gun. “I’m lighter and faster than him.”
Before he can talk me out of it, I jump from the Hovermedes and run to the bunker’s main entry hatch. I shimmy down quietly and turn on my flashlight, fighting the urge to start yelling for everyone at once. In my head, I repeat everything Mason’s taught me. Assess the situation. Secure the area. Identify escape routes. My heart thumps methodically as I jog down the main tunnel.
My instinct is to go straight to our bunker and look for Da and Tucker, but Prat's bunker is the muster point. If there are survivors, that’s where they’ll be.
As I run, my mind flashes back to the circle of cold steel Reid pressed into my skull when he caught me in his bunker unawares. This time I’m not slowing down long enough for anyone to pull a fast one on me. They’ll have to shoot at a moving target.
When I get to Prat's bunker, I lean my palms against the tunnel wall, and steady my breathing. What if they’re all dead? What if Kat’s eyes are open, like Frank’s, still watching me with her unsettling stare? I’m not sure I’m ready for this. With a heavy sigh, I straighten up and reach for the access hatch. I can’t back away now. I have to find my courage. Whatever’s inside has to be faced.
Chapter 21
A loud thumping echoes through the tunnel. I crouch down, the hairs in my ears tingling. Someone’s coming! A cold sweat erupts across my neck as I cock my gun. I hope I’m ready to do this. I force myself to think of Prat’s lifeless body and the name on the note in his pocket.
The pounding gets louder. Breathless, I take aim into the shadows. My trigger finger twitches, then slackens with relief.
Tucker barrels into me, knocks me to the ground, and buries me beneath his thick fur.
“Good boy!” I sob, running my hand over his coat.
When he tires of slobbering all over me, I sit up and hug him tight. His heartbeat hammers against my chest. It’s a morsel of hope. If he’s okay, maybe the others are too. I pat him on the head. “We gotta find Da and the others.” I stand and he follows me over to the hatch. “Are they down here?”
Tucker turns his head aside and waits for me to make a move.
I climb down into the bunker and hurriedly shine my flashlight around.
The place is trashed. Vandalized, except there’s no graffiti. Every drawer’s been yanked out and emptied, the contents tossed in a pile at the far corner. Tucker huddles against my legs, clearly ill-at-ease.
“Anyone here?” I walk around and peer into Prat's bedroom.
The covers are ripped from his bed, the mattress tipped on end.
I turn on my heel and walk back to the access hatch, a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s go check our bunker, Tuck.”
He whines and pads to the far side of the room.
“What is it, old boy?”
Head cocked, he sits down on his haunches beside the pile of debris and splintered cabinetry. My gaze flits over the wreckage and then back to Tucker. A foreboding feeling grips me. I want to say something to reassure him, but my tongue feels numb. I mouth Good Boy, but he looks away.
I sniff the air tentatively, willing myself not to detect the odor of death. It’s damp and humid in Prat's bunker. I can tell the heater hasn’t been run in a couple of d
ays. I stick my flashlight between my teeth and fiddle with the low voltage lamp in the ceiling.
After a few frustrating attempts to coax it to life, a yellowish hue filters reluctantly through the darkness. A soft whir kicks in, and my shoulders sag with relief. At least the generator still works. Tucker gives a sharp bark, directing my attention back to the debris.
He gets up and paws gently at the pile. He’s not going to let me leave it undisturbed.
I prop my rifle against the wall, grab a piece of splintered plywood and fling it aside to placate him. That’s when I hear a moan.
My brain combusts in panic. It came from somewhere deep inside the pile. Tucker digs frantically now, barking in short, insistent bursts.
I dive in beside him and wrench out armfuls of hunting gear and clothing. In the ghoulish light I spot what looks like an unshaven chin. My heart knocks like a hammer in my chest. I struggle to free my shaking fingers from the fishing net they’re entangled in, then scrabble to unearth the half-buried face.
“Hang on!” I say as I heave a broken cabinet aside. Sweat oils my forehead, stings my eyes. The cabinet creaks and rolls onto its side, the plywood flattening like the floor of an imploded building. Another pitiful groan makes my heart gallop faster.
I burrow through shoes and clothing and reach my arm under the man’s dust-covered head. He stiffens, as if fearful of my touch. His eyelids flicker open.
“Da!”
Confusion floods his face. “D … Derry? Z’at you?”
“Yes! It’s me, Da.” I adjust my arm to cradle his head more comfortably.
He reaches for me, his eyes clouding over. “Git outta here! It’s a trap!”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you.”
He clutches me to him. “He knew you’d come here when you found Prat's body.”
“Who?” My mind races to the note. “Diesel?”
Da blinks in assent. “He wanted us to fire up the Sweeper ship. We told him we didn’t know nothin’ about it, but he forced Prat out of the bunker at gunpoint.”
“Where are the others?”
“They fled before he came back.”
“Why are you still here?” I ask, a sob sticking in my throat.
He exhales softly. “I couldn’t find Tucker. Wasn’t about to leave without your dang dog.”
My eyes brim with tears.
“Diesel went ballistic when he realized the camp was gone. Son of a gun swung at me with the butt of his rifle, knocked me out cold.”
A balled fist of anger slams my gut. “Let’s get you out of here before he comes back.”
Da squeezes his eyes shut. “He knows you’re here, count on it.”
“Can you walk?”
“Aye.” Da sits up slowly and groans. “But my bloody nose is broken.”
We exit Prat's bunker and make our way along the tunnel to the main access hatch. Tucker stays glued to my heels every step of the way. He’s not likely to let me out of his sight again, no matter what command I give him. Da moves like an old man, one arm wrapped around his ribs. I steady him at the foot of the iron ladder. “I’m right behind you.”
He hauls himself slowly up onto the first rung. Tucker gives a low growl and I tense.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
My adrenalin spikes. I reach for Da’s shirt and yank him back down off the ladder. We drop to the ground and I cover him as best I can. I force air through my lungs, one hand on Tucker’s head to keep him calm. My ears tingle in the darkness. Lead on metal. Someone’s shooting at the Hovermedes.
“It’s him,” Da wheezes.
I hunker down, straining to hear what direction the bullets are coming from.
“Wait here,” I whisper. “I’ll see if I can get a decent shot.”
Da grabs my sleeve. “Be careful, me wee girl.”
I twist my lips and look away. He hasn’t called me that since Ma died. I don’t often admit it, but I miss Da too.
I snake my way up the ladder, my tread light as velvet on each metal rung. Tucker sits on his haunches, ears aloft, his soft brown eyes watching my every move.
More gunfire bounces off the Hovermedes. Then silence. When I reach the top of the ladder, I shut my eyes and listen for Big Ed’s voice in my head. You can hear in all directions. My heart drums in my chest as I catalog the sounds. A Northern water thrush warbles along with the forest vibrations. Strange. The shooting’s stopped.
I pop my head up through the opening and peer hesitantly around. A thick arm locks around my neck in a death embrace.
“Make a sound, and you’re dead.”
Somehow, I contain the gasp that’s halfway through my lips. My heart feels as if it’s marshmallowed to twice its normal size. I grit my teeth, flailing helplessly against the chokehold Diesel has on me. I should have seen this coming. Should have made sure of his position before I surfaced. I keep making the same rookie mistakes, and this one might just be my last.
“Real slow,” Diesel hisses in my ear. “Pass me your gun.”
I play the only card I have left and let my weapon slip from my trembling fingers into the shaft. It clatters against the iron rungs as it falls down into the tunnel. I scrunch my eyes shut, hoping it didn’t take Da out on the way. At least I had the sense to flip the safety.
Diesel tightens his arm against my windpipe. He grabs my hair with his free hand and drags me out of the tunnel. “On your feet.”
I stagger up and splutter. “Can’t … breathe!”
“Move it!” He rams the butt of his M16 into my back. My nerves light up with pain.
“Hands above your head. Walk toward the Hovermedes. Real slow.”
I take several unsteady steps forward, sick with fear as I weigh my options. I can’t let him use me as bait to take control of the Hovermedes. Whatever Diesel demands, I won’t let Mason open that door.
Three feet from the nose of the Hovermedes Diesel grabs my shoulder and wrenches it back. “Hold up!”
Rooted to the spot, I close my eyes and breathe slowly in and out. The only advantage I have in this situation is my speed. If Diesel’s distracted for even a second, I could make a run for the bunker hatch. I’m under no illusions what the outcome will be if I make the attempt and fail.
“I know you boneheads are in there,” Diesel yells. “Girl’s gonna croak out here, unless you open up and drop your bean shooters out the door. Any of you come outta there packing, I’ll blast your guts into tomorrow.”
I tighten my lips and give a slight shake of my head. I know Big Ed and Mason can see me through the tinted glass. My body tenses as the minutes tick by.
“Be a bum rap to have to shoot the little vixen in her own backyard.” The menacing edge in Diesel’s voice creeps up another notch. “Already wasted two today.”
I lick a salty drop of sweat from my lips. He thinks Da’s dead.
Diesel raises the barrel of his gun to the back of my head. “Better get the meat wagon coming for baby girl.”
A ball of terror lodges in my throat. There’s no chance to run. Maybe I can drop, topple him, and wrestle the gun from his hands. I blow my lank hair out of my eyes, and freeze when I hear a click.
A pneumatic door pops out and glides seamlessly along the body of the Hovermedes.
“No!” I yell.
Diesel positions me in front of his body like a human shield. I watch in disbelief as Mason emerges through the doorway. He lays his rifle on the ground and looks up, hands raised above his head.
“You got what you wanted.” Mason’s voice is slow, methodical. “Now let her go.”
I shift nervously from one foot to the other.
“You know how to fly this ship?” Diesel asks.
Mason moves his jaw side to side. “Fixin’ to try.”
Diesel draws his studded brows together and jerks his chin at the Hovermedes. “How many you got in there?”
“She’s the only one left.” Mason motions at me.
Diesel’s eyes cut to the Hovermedes and then ba
ck to Mason. “Show me.”
Mason shrugs. “Knock yourself out.”
Diesel jams his gun into my left shoulder blade. I let out a gasp.
“Move!” he shouts, propelling me forward again.
I open my mouth to yell at Mason to get back inside the ship when Da’s voice cuts across the clearing. “Drop your weapon, scum.”
Diesel hesitates. I lunge, too late. He swivels and shoots. Then, another crack rings out. Diesel sprawls backward, arms flung high above his head in a red-handed reflex that tells me he’s been hit. But what about Da?
I’m vaguely aware I’m running madly across the clearing. My thighs burn with adrenalin coursing like acid through my legs.
When I reach the hatch, I crumple to the ground beside Da. A pool of blood is seeping through his shirt.
“Da!” I scream.
A gurgle escapes his lips. He strains to sit up, and I pull him toward me.
“It’s okay. Keep breathing.” I turn and yell over my shoulder to Mason. “Get a medical kit from the Hovermedes.”
Da reaches for my collar and draws me close. His eyes flicker in his head like the power’s about to go out. “It’s all right, darlin’.”
“No!” I blink back the tears stinging my eyes. “We need you. I need you.”
He shuts his eyes and smiles, a vague, distant smile that tells me he’s drifting.
“Da!” I shake him softly.
His eyes pop open and he stares past me. “I can see her, Derry.”
“See who?” My voice pitches in despair. I throw a harried glance over my shoulder. What is Mason doing?
Da’s grip on me releases and he sinks back in my arms. “Your Ma. I see your Ma.”
Chapter 22
I stare down at Da, slack-jawed and ashen in my arms. A wave of pain sears my gut. Trembling, I shake him again, my grip weakening as the nightmare takes hold. “No!” I scream. “Please, Da! You can’t die!” I collapse on his bloody chest, sobs tearing through my throat like razors.
“Derry!” Mason runs up and lifts me off Da’s body. I stare in horror at the blood smeared all over me. No! No! No!
Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) Page 12
