My lungs gasp for air. I swallow a bug and stumble onward, choking while it goes down. I can barely see through the hair plastered across my face. Tucker hurtles along to my right, panting hard, but I can’t risk taking my eyes off the root-ridden path to check on him.
To my left I hear someone thrashing through the brush about thirty feet behind us. I don’t dare call out for fear it’s Blade. My breathing grows more labored. I can’t keep up this pace much longer. My legs are dissolving like jelly.
Up ahead I spot a hollowed out tree trunk. I slow to a lurching trot. Limbs convulsing, I make my way toward it, squeeze inside, and collapse on a bed of forest litter. Tucker barrels in after me and I place an arm around his heaving belly. We lay in a jumbled, sweaty heap, gasping in the air reeking of decaying wood and damp leaves. I listen for footsteps, but all I can hear is a thrush twittering above us.
After several minutes, I shift my position to relieve my cramped legs. Tucker whimpers softly and licks my face as if to reassure me we’re safe. I stretch, then lay back down and curl into the fetal position. Tucker pants hot breath in my face, his tongue dangling through his lips.
When his breathing finally slows to a normal pace, he gets up and sniffs at my pack. “Need some water, old boy?” I lean on one elbow, unscrew my canteen, and pour him a cupful. It’s not enough to satisfy him, but it’s all I can spare for now. I roll over and peek out through the cracked tree trunk. A splash of sun accents the pea green ferns clustered around. Must be close to noon. Prime time for Sweepers. My stomach cramps. Are the others safe?
“We can’t stay here, Tucker. We have to find Owen.”
He wags his tail and slips out through the opening in the tree trunk. I gulp a few swigs of water and screw the cap back on my canteen. I shove my pack through the trunk and take a deep breath before climbing out after him. I search the patch of sky visible through the soaring pines, but there’s no sign of a ship.
Tucker comes tearing back to greet me, happy to be hitting the trail again. I throw a glance around. I’ll have to watch my back with Blade and Lipsy on the loose. At least they don’t have weapons.
Up ahead, Tucker pauses and sniffs meticulously around a rotten log. I chuckle to myself when a squirrel darts out and spooks him.
Something tickles my ear as it flies by, and I swat at it distractedly. Tucker looks up, ears pricked, and then keels over on the forest floor.
Chapter 24
My head jerks toward the soft thud of Tucker’s body hitting the ground. I plunge forward, hollering his name, my cramped legs responding in slow motion. I fix my eyes on the patch of fur thirty feet in front of me and reach down inside myself, summoning every last drop of adrenaline.
But, I’m not fast enough. The Sweepers’ tube slithers out of nowhere and fastens itself on Tucker like a shivering viper. In a final burst of speed, I fall on it, heedless of the skin shredding from my fists as I whale on it.
“No! Not Tucker! You monsters!”
The tube retracts like a giant muscle, catapulting me into the brush. I watch, horrified, as it coils upward, dragging a writhing Tucker with it. The breath in my lungs hardens like concrete. My eyes blur with tears as a flash of fur disappears with the retractable arm of chain mail into the underbelly of the Hovermedes.
“No! No! No!” I hurl a fistful of leaves and pinecones into the air, and then sink back down, pounding the dirt with my fists. My mind whites out. I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets and scream from deep within. My rib cage shudders, and for a moment I think I’ve been darted too.
“Derry!” Mason reaches for me by the scruff of my neck and drags me deeper into the brush. His eyes flash with annoyance. “Keep your voice down.”
I sit up, and wipe the tears from my lashes.
“Who did they take?” Mason asks, his tone low and urgent.
My chest tightens. Tucker’s smell lingers on my clothes, heightening the pain of losing him. Through a haze of tears, I claw my way back to my feet. “I have to follow that ship. Get out of my way!”
Mason sidesteps me, then locks me from behind in a bear hug. “Derry! Listen to me! I need you to calm down and tell me who they took.”
Sobbing, I go limp in his arms.
He turns me around to face him. “Who?”
“Tucker,” I whisper.
I swear a flicker of relief crosses his face.
“I was afraid it was Owen.” He releases me with a heavy sigh. “I’ve lost him.”
The air exits my lungs. I blink to orient myself. “How … you had him …”
“He insisted I look for you before we went any farther. I left him in a grove, well-concealed.” Mason’s face pales. “When I went back, he was gone.”
I stare at him, equal measures of rage and grief wrestling for control. “You moron! You shouldn’t have left him. He’s in no state to fend for himself.”
My temples throb. I clamp my head between my hands, my thoughts tumbling over each other. If Owen's in trouble, there’s no time to waste, even now when I’m raw with grief over losing Tucker. The Mason Hate Fest will have to wait—right now, I need him.
“How far’s the backup air vent?” I ask.
“Quarter mile or so.”
“We’ll spread out and comb the area. If we can’t find Owen in the next hour, we’ll go in through that vent. Let’s round up the others.”
“They’re waiting for us. Where’s that box I gave you in the Hovermedes?”
I rummage in my pack and shove it at him. “We need to hurry. What is it anyway?”
“It’s a Faraday box. I took the radio from the Hovermedes and I need to hide it in something that will protect it from pulses. It’s the only way we can communicate without the Sweepers knowing.”
Mason stashes the radio in the hollowed-out tree where Tucker and I hid, then leads me through the prickly undergrowth. The afternoon air smells of wildflowers, and moss cooking in the sun. My body aches to collapse on a soft patch somewhere and sleep off the warmth of the day—but that would amount to a death sentence with Sweepers on the prowl. I grab a fistful of half-ripened raspberries from a bush in passing and stuff them in my mouth. My withered taste buds awaken as the sour juice trickles down my throat. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything, but hunger pangs hit the moment I swallow the berries.
“Got any food?” I ask Mason.
He reaches into a side pocket and tosses me a hunk of deer jerky. I gnaw on it, alternating bites with small moans of pleasure.
Mason throws me a disapproving look. “If you’re trying to broadcast our position, you’re doing a good job.”
I swallow a chunk of jerky whole and wipe the drool off my mouth. “How much farther?” I ask, stuffing the rest of it into my pocket.
“We’re here.” Mason places two fingers between his lips and whistles.
Big Ed answers back with a short trill.
Mason walks over to a half-buried boulder and yanks back a pile of brush from a burrow tucked flush into its base.
Big Ed pops his head out, a sprig of grass clamped between his teeth. A look of relief spreads across his leathered features.
The tension in my shoulders eases at the sight of him, but I can’t bring a smile to my face. I clamber down into the burrow and glance around. There’s barely room to crouch down inside, let alone stretch out. No shortage of claw marks in the dirt walls either. A shiver crosses my shoulders. Just my luck they’d find an empty bear den to hide in.
Blade and Lipsy huddle beneath the tangled web of roots, wrists bound in front of them. Lipsy's face is bleeding from several ugly scratches, but Blade looks relatively unscathed, apart from his misshapen jaw.
“We’ve lost Owen,” I say. “He can’t have gone far.”
“You ain’t gonna find that sucker,” Blade pipes up. “Why’d you think that Hovermedes backed off? Cause they got what they came for, that’s why!”
“They got Tucker,” I say, fighting to control the waver in my voice.
<
br /> Blade cocks an eyebrow. “Must be hard times in the Craniopolis if dog’s on the menu.”
I lunge in a half-crawl toward him. Big Ed grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me back.
I shake him off, and take a deep breath. I know better than to react to Blade like anything he says merits a response. I can’t keep giving him that kind of power over me.
“We’re not going to stop looking for Owen yet,” I say. “He might still be out there. He knows a thing or two about staking out and camouflage.”
Blade lets out a snort. “I ain’t going back out there long as those ships are sniffing around. Right now, I’m gonna get me some jerky and bust some Zs, and if you had any sense between your ears, you’d do the same.”
I stick my face up close to Blade’s. In the sickly light of the burrow, the lightning bolts carved up the side of his neck make him look like some ugly hybrid badger.
“I should have left you for a wolf pack to find when you were out cold,” I say, my voice oddly devoid of emotion. “But, that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t leave a man, even a scumbag like you, to the mercy of animals.”
Blade hacks a ball of spit at the back of his throat. Instinctively, I draw back several inches. He curls his lip at me. “Them cats got your brother, I get it. But, you ain’t gonna find him this side o’ the fence.” He throws his head back and laughs, a thin, reedy laugh that’s quickly absorbed into the damp, dirt walls.
I turn to Big Ed and Mason. “Let’s go. I’m done with him.”
Lipsy looks up at me, startled.
“Your choice,” I say to her. “You can stay with Blade or come with us.”
The smile fades from Blade's face. “She ain’t going nowhere without me, ain’t that right, Lipsy?”
Lipsy picks at the sleeve of her jacket. “Th-th-that’s right,” she says, avoiding eye contact with me.
I stare down at her bent head in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Lipsy. Don’t you get it? This is your chance to get away from the Rogues.”
I reach out a hand to her, but she shrinks back, shaking her head vehemently.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Have it your way then.”
She rocks gently back and forth in response.
I turn to Mason. “Cut them loose.”
Big Ed and Mason exchange a look, and then Mason pulls out his knife and slashes the ropes around their wrists.
“Have at it,” I say. “You’re on your own.”
“Hey! Wait a minute! Give us back our bleedin’ guns at least!” Blade yells after us.
I flash him a cold smile and throw Lipsy a strip of jerky.
Big Ed, Mason, and I pan out and comb the brush for the next forty-five minutes, whistling intermittently, clambering beneath root systems, checking every crevice and burrow on the off chance Owen's holed up someplace, or passed out and can’t hear us. I keep thinking about how much easier this would be with Tucker’s help. The sob lodged in my throat thickens.
“Maybe Blade’s right,” I say, when we regroup. “The Sweepers always take off when they make an extraction.” I turn to Mason. “I think it’s time to find that backup air vent.”
A somber expression clouds his face. He moves wordlessly back into the brush. Big Ed and I exchange uncertain looks, and then fall in behind him.
Before long we’re climbing a steep slope through a thick mantle of Tamarack trees. My heart weighs heavier than the pack on my back. There’s a real risk this could end badly for everyone. If we don’t make it inside the Craniopolis undetected, I may never see Jakob or Owen again. And I can’t begin to think about what will happen to Tucker when the Sweepers realize they’ve snagged a dog.
Big Ed pulls up and leans his forearms on one knee, panting. “How much farther? This dang hill’s steeper than a cow’s face.”
“It’s right there.” Mason points up the slope. “Beyond that burnt patch.”
I stare at the charred belt of hillside above us. “We’ll be fully exposed once we leave the cover of the trees.”
Big Ed mops at his brow. “Sure you don’t want to wait till dark?”
I hesitate. Our chances of getting inside undetected after sundown are marginally better, but we’re already behind schedule. We need to rescue Jakob before something unimaginable happens to him. I shake my head. “There are lives at stake. How’s the vent secured?”
“There’s a metal grating that has to be unscrewed and a series of mesh discs behind it to trap smaller debris,” Mason says. “Could take a while to get in.”
“Then let’s get on it.”
Big Ed shoves his spectacles up his nose and adjusts his pack. Silently, we creep up the hill another thirty feet or so, M16s at the ready.
“Wait here.” Mason motions us down to the ground and sidles forward alone. When he reaches a small outcrop, he raises his arm and flings a fistful of rocks at a clump of moss overhanging a granite slab. The clang of stone on metal reverberates in my head like an underwater sonic boom. I stiffen and grip my gun tighter, bracing for an explosion of some kind.
Mason hurries back down to us. “It’s clean.”
Heart racing, I scramble up to the cleverly camouflaged vent access and pull the moss overhang to one side. My heart sinks when I step behind it. Big Ed comes up behind me and whistles softly. The grating over the vent is easily four feet in diameter and securely riveted into its iron frame with mammoth metal bolts.
I look down at my feet and kick at the droppings scattered around. “Wolves. Even they can’t figure out how to get in.”
Big Ed kneels and examines the droppings. “Fresh. Must be a pack close by.”
A shiver crosses my shoulders. “Another good reason not to be out here after dark. Let’s get busy.”
Mason sticks his hand beneath the moss overhang and pokes around in a crevice in the granite for a few minutes. He grunts, and I hear a scraping sound as he drags something out.
He holds up a colossal rusted wrench with an adjustable lower jaw. I’m not sure I could lift it, let alone wield it, but Mason’s brandishing it in front of our faces like it’s hollow. "Ramesh stashed it here in case I ever needed a way back in."
I'm warming up to this Ramesh clone. By my calculations, he's taken more than a few risks for Mason.
I watch Mason position the wrench on the first bolt and twist, the cords on the backs of his hands flinching with the effort. Even with his extraordinary strength, it could take a while to loosen these bolts.
I load my pack back on. “I’ll head uphill and spot while you work on the grating.”
Big Ed nods. “We’ll whistle for you when we’re ready.”
I hike to an elevation, which gives me a vantage point to pick off anyone approaching the vent from either direction. I’m worried Blade and Lipsy might have followed us. I don’t understand why Lipsy wouldn’t come with us. Blade couldn’t have stopped her with all of us there. It’s like she thinks she’s one of them now. I slip between the pines spearing their way skyward and throw my pack at my feet. A stunned field mouse darts out from beneath the leaves and scuttles off.
I pull my gun from my shoulder, adjust my scope’s windage knob, and take aim, center mass on the granite slab that marks the vent entry. I’ve never killed a man before. Hard to say what I might do if I see Blade now. I lower my gun and run my hand along the barrel. Lipsy would finally be free.
It’s the smallest of pricks when it hits. Bee sting grade. A brain-freeze jolt of pain in the temples. I fall forward, immobilized, face planting into the mosaic of shriveled pine needles looming up at me from the forest floor.
Chapter 25
I’m floating upward, but I can’t figure out where to. Swaths of color bleed into grainy images that swim around me like luminescent jellyfish.
I wake with a violent start, soaked in sweat, and look into the lead-colored eyes of my captor—a barrel-chested, olive-skinned man with long, thick lashes, cleaner than anyone I’ve seen in years. He leans over
me, a perturbed look on his face, scalp pinched tight over his smooth head.
“Do you know who I am?” His voice rumbles like a freight train.
I twist my neck to look past him, confirming the fear gnawing at me. I’m inside a Hovermedes. Harnessed in one of those egg-shaped seats. A prisoner. More lab rat status than POW. My heart sinks.
I only zoned out on the hill for a few seconds, wallowing in thoughts of revenge against Blade, but that’s all it took. Owen always said it would kill me in the end. And I’m as good as dead now.
“You’re a Sweeper?” My voice pitches into question mode, as if there’s still a chance this could all be a horrible misunderstanding. Or, better still, a dream. Instinctively I reach up and rub the dull ache in my left temple where the tranquilizer dart went in.
The olive-skinned man opens his mouth to respond, but turns at a loud thump behind him.
A furry head squeezes into the space between us, and then, unbelievably, Tucker is straddling my chest with his paws, tail swishing contentedly behind him. I try to say his name, but there’s a sob the size of a basketball stuck in my throat and all I manage is a gurgle. I pull him toward me, catching a whiff of pine and campfire in his coat. I can’t believe they let him live. But maybe the Sweepers have some other sinister purpose for him.
We stay locked in our sweaty embrace until Tucker wriggles free to sniff at the jerky in my pocket. I tear my eyes away from him and glare at the Sweeper. “Why’d you take my dog?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Had to. You’re inseparable.”
I breathe unevenly in and out. Like he cares. He’s toying with me, just like Blade does. I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing my fear. I nudge Tucker aside and undo the harness that’s cinched so tight it’s cutting off my circulation. Surprisingly, the Sweeper doesn’t react. I flick my eyes around. There’s a good chance he has other options to immobilize me if I try to escape.
I run my eyes over his hulking frame. Not much chance of overpowering him. My best bet is to keep him talking and learn as much as I can. Anything he tells me could prove useful if I have a chance to escape later. “How long were you tracking us?” I ask.
Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) Page 14
