Mason grabs a set of oversized scrubs and pulls them on.
“We can’t just walk out of here and pass ourselves off as scientists,” Sven says.
Mason glares at him. “Got a better idea?”
Sven shrugs and hands me a set of scrubs. Tucker sniffs at them curiously. I pull on the billowing pants and tighten the drawstring waistband. The macabre thought comes to me that these might end up being my burial clothes. Except they don’t bury bodies down here, they rewire them, or cremate the botched ones. I glance around at the contents of the room in a last-ditch effort to come up with a better plan than waltzing past the Schutz Clones brandishing a scalpel.
Somewhere inside my head, a light snaps on. What we need is a diversion. I lock eyes with Dr. Lyong. “I’m guessing the stadium is the emergency muster station down here.”
He narrows his eyes at me and casts a furtive glance over my shoulder, tipping me off to exactly what I’m looking for.
I turn and scan the room. Several oversized supply carts line the back wall. I scurry back and yank the carts out from the wall one by one. Bingo!
“There’s a fire alarm back here!” I yell to the others. “It’ll buy us enough time to look for Owen and get out of here.”
Heart racing, I reach for the T-bar on the pull station. I grab Tucker’s collar, and tug hard on the alarm. A shrill sound goes through me like a knife. The hairs in my ears vibrate. “Go!” I yell, shoving Mason in front of me. Sven grabs Dr. Lyong and we dash back out into the main corridor. “Search the left side on your way out,” I yell at Mason. “I’ll take the right.”
I sprint to the nearest room and wrench open the door. The expressionless face in the bed has a peculiar ivory sheen to it, more like a plastic mold than skin. Light-brown hair. It can’t be Owen. Or Jakob. I back out, and gather my wits enough to open the next door. Several ashen, half-refurbished faces with empty eye sockets, contemplate the ceiling. I beat a hasty retreat, a fresh wave of nausea surging up from my stomach.
Outside, I lean against the door and hold my hands over my ears to deaden the relentless blare of the alarm. The longer Owen's missing, the less hope I can drum up in my heart that I’ll ever see him again. As for Jakob—I have to believe he’s safe, somewhere far from here. Any other option would be the end of me.
“Derry!”
I jump out of my skin at the muffled sound of Mason’s voice. I can tell by the way he’s frantically waving me over that he’s found something. I force my jellylike legs across the corridor, dreading what’s coming.
He motions through the open door of the stall. I frown at a sleeping figure curled up on the bed with his back to us. The room is empty apart from the bed, no medical equipment, no monitors, not even a drip line.
Cautiously, I step toward the sleeping figure. Tucker emits a low growl that rumbles at the back of his throat like an engine about to throttle up. I plant my eyes on the man’s face and freeze.
It can’t be!
Chapter 31
Thin mustached lips, parted in sleep, pierced brow, cleft chin—the same sinister face I grew to dread in the short time I knew him. I reach into my pocket, flip my wrist, and ready my switchblade.
I feel as if I’ve wanted to kill Rummy for a very long time. Three days can morph into a heck of a hankering for revenge. My mind flits back to when I last saw him—sprawled on the lodge steps in Lewis Falls, suctioned to a Sweepers’ tube, limbs flailing every which way. I tried to save him, instinct I suppose, but I didn’t feel sorry for him when I couldn’t. Only relieved I would never have to look at him again.
I test my thumb gently against the tip of my blade. I could slit his throat now and he wouldn’t feel a thing. We’d be even for what he did to Owen—and to me. My jaw still throbs when I press my fingers to it. I stare down at his still form. I’m not afraid to kill him, not after everything I’ve been through.
But, now that I’ve seen what goes on inside the Craniopolis, I can understand the fear that drove him to do what he did to us—the kind of fear that consumes a mind like a flesh-eating bacteria. The Rogues knew what was really going in the reeducation centers. No wonder they’d stop at nothing to ensure they’re never taken captive again. Rummy knew someone was ratting them out to the Sweepers. Owen and I showed up in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
“What do you want to do?” Mason asks.
I pocket my knife and take a deep breath. I shake Rummy and slap him several times, but it’s no use, he’s too heavily drugged. “We’ll have to leave him.” I turn my back and whistle for Tucker. “We came here for Owen and Jakob. We can’t save them all.”
I march nonchalantly past Mason, but inside I’ve never felt more hollow. Leaving Rummy behind is a death sentence. It’s a lame way to kill a man, and I know it will haunt me. Maybe I should slit his throat, it would be more merciful than what’s in store for him.
I busy myself checking the remainder of the rooms on the right side of the corridor, half of which are unoccupied, and half of which house more wired cadavers. To my relief there’s no sign of Owen.
I throw a cursory glance at the monitors, and give the dead scientists’ bodies a wide berth on my way back out to the Crematauto. Mason gives a grim shake of his head when I throw him a questioning look. “If we can get to the biotic pods, I might be able to find out from someone if he’s in the Intake Sektor,” he says.
I reach for Dr. Lyong by the scruff of his neck. “I should have known you were lying.”
“He was as good as dead when we extracted him.” Dr. Lyong flashes me a dark look. “There’s only one reason he’s no longer here.”
Mason lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t underestimate your brother.”
I bite my bottom lip. At least Mason’s optimistic Owen's still alive. I have my doubts. How long can anyone survive in a place like this?
Mason shoves Lyong toward the vehicle. “Time to go,” he says. “The fire alarm will only buy us so much time. Once the Schutz Clones find the bodies in here and realize Lyong is missing, they’ll put patrols in all the tunnels. We have to find Owen and get back to the docking station before that happens.”
I hesitate before climbing into the Crematauto and throw a furtive glance back down the eerie corridor. The steel doors line up on either side like nails in a giant coffin. My decision to leave Rummy behind weighs on me, my own words haunt me: I don’t leave a man, even a scumbag like you, to the mercy of animals.
“Wait!” I say. “I've changed my mind. We’ll bring Rummy with us.”
Mason’s eyebrows shoot upward. Without a word, he turns and hoofs it back down the corridor. A moment later, he reappears, Rummy slung over one shoulder like a kill from a hunting trip.
The tightness in my chest lets up a notch. I’ve reassured myself that I’m not a monster, but will I pay for this decision later? Rummy’s not in any shape to handle a weapon and make himself useful. He’s an added burden in an already precarious situation, and on top of that, we can’t trust him.
He doesn’t even twitch when we lay him down in the back of the Crematauto. Lyong wrinkles his nose in disgust, and scoots as far back from him as he can.
“Something stink?” I ask, looking pointedly at Lyong. “Other than your curdled cells.”
He eyes me with an air of irritation, like a predator sizing up prey beyond its strike zone. “When the Schutz Clones apprehend you, which they will, Miss Connolly, I assure you I will take great pleasure in using your tissue in my regeneration.”
His concrete-colored flesh contorts in a sneer. Something cannibalistic in his eyes makes my heart falter. My brain feels probed, as if he’s sucking out my thoughts. He’s a broken man, but the intellect inside that shell terrifies me more than all the Rogues’ brutality.
I tear my gaze away and bury my face in Tucker’s neck. The familiar scent rushes through me like a healing balm.
“We’re pulling out,” Sven calls back to us.
The Crematauto shudders briefly and glides for
ward.
“Stay down,” Sven says. “And shut Lyong up.”
Mason pulls a filthy flannel shirt from his pack and rips several strips from it. He stuffs the doctor’s mouth with a fistful of fabric, and then ties the bulk of the shirt firmly around his head. The only sounds Lyong can make now are muffled grunts. Tucker flops down on his paws, apparently satisfied the doctor’s no longer a threat.
“Gear up,” Mason nudges me.
I pull the charging handle of my gun to the rear and lock the bolt. Tucker’s ears prick up at the sound.
“Not yet, old boy.” I lean over and rub his head. It’s just another hunting trip as far as he’s concerned. But everything’s about to change for me.
I insert a loaded magazine and slap it with the palm of my hand to make sure it holds. I’ve never killed a human being before, let alone a clone. I slide my finger into the trigger housing and trace the metal outline. We won’t get out of here without some kind of showdown, and when it comes, there won’t be time to second guess myself.
The Crematauto slows to a stop and Sven punches in the security code at the doors. “Exiting Sektor Sieben,” he says. “Get ready.”
I shift my position, squished between Mason and an unresponsive Rummy, and finger the safety selector on my gun. I tell myself there’s nothing I won’t do to save Owen.
The Crematauto lurches forward into the tunnel. The fire alarm blares relentlessly. I raise my head a few inches and peer through the front windscreen. A cold sweat breaks out across my brow.
Two hundred feet from our vehicle, the first junction is packed with figures jostling their way in both directions. I glance at Sven. He stares straight ahead, face pinched in concentration. We slow to a crawl, hovering forward as people step off the magnetic levitation tracks to let us through. They push and elbow each other like a jittery herd, ready to bolt en masse if one of them makes a break. Few even throw us a passing glance. If anything, the sight of the Crematauto seems to spur them on, lending credence to the threat of fire.
I gasp when I see the first misshapen form mingling with the crowd. Bulbous forehead atop an unnaturally narrow, flat face. Eye sockets punched sideways, eyeballs retracted. I twist my neck to stare after the creature as it lopes along. A deviation. Tucker lifts his head, as if sensing my angst.
We levitate at a painstakingly slow speed as we pull away from the intersection. More than once, someone in the crowd whacks the side of the Crematauto in a fit of rage as we nudge past, and once a malformed face presses up against the windscreen. My blood chills as I picture being pulled from the Crematauto and ripped limb from limb by a mob of deviations.
“I can’t get anywhere with this crowd,” Sven says, his voice strained. “They’re all making a beeline for the biotic pods. They know the air in there will be uncontaminated. We’ll have to head for the docking station instead.”
He navigates a left turn down a connecter tunnel, his features set like hardpan. The crowd thins out, and I relax my death grip on my weapon as we pick up speed.
“Where’s the docking station?” I ask.
“East side of the Craniopolis.” Sven swings hard left again and turns down a deserted side tunnel. “We’ll take the back way.”
As I sink to the floor to rest my cramped muscles, I hear a sharp intake of breath. “What is it?” I whisper.
“Checkpoint ahead. Schutz Clones,” Sven says in a clipped tone. “Sit tight and let me do the talking.”
I throw Mason a tense glance. He tightens the gag around Lyong’s mouth.
We glide forward another twenty feet or so, and then come to an abrupt stop. I motion to Tucker to lay still, and squeeze the pistol grip on my M16. Mason gestures urgently at the door. Silently, I flip around to face the back of the vehicle. If the Schutz Clones open the back door I’ll have no choice but to shoot. If Owen or Jakob are somewhere in the Craniopolis, we’re their only hope.
Mason nests the stock of his gun against his shoulder, his features groomed to neutral. His calmness unsettles me. I need to see him sweat, a twitch of fear at least, to know his adrenalin’s pumping. But then he was trained for this. If ever I need to trust him, it’s now.
I strain my ears to listen in on what the security guard is saying to Sven.
Without warning, Lyong wriggles sideways and kicks at the side of the vehicle. I grab his leg, but he fights me with surprising strength and lands a foot below my ribs. I clutch at my stomach, momentarily winded. Before he gets another swing in, Mason rams the butt of his rifle into Lyong’s kneecap. He lets out a muffled yelp and rolls over in agony.
I flatten myself back into position and refocus. Sven’s voice gets louder. For our benefit no doubt. The guards must have picked up on something. "What do you mean no vehicles are authorized to run?" Sven protests. “Dr. Lyong gave express orders to evacuate Sektor Sieben and bring the participants to the medical unit in the docking station.”
I press my cheek against the cold steel of my weapon and force myself to breathe. If the guards order Sven out of the vehicle, it might be only a matter of seconds before they open the back door and find us.
“Get your hands off me!” Sven yells. “I’m reporting all three of you for code violations.”
Mason waves three fingers in front of my face to make sure I’m tracking. I sign okay back to him, and focus on my front sight post. Tucker tenses at the sound of footsteps moving toward the back of the vehicle. My breathing quickens.
The back door slider clicks. A vertical strip of light appears as the panels move apart. I ease back the trigger until there’s just enough of a crack in the door to shoot through, and fire.
The sound, like rocks peppering a steel drum, ricochets around the tunnel. Mason shoots in tandem. Burnt powder fills the air. When the doors retract fully I see our kill, slumped over in a heap, chalk-white and still. My heart thuds in my throat.
Two bodies. But there were three Schutz Clones.
I slither backward into the Crematauto, and twist my head around to peek through the half-open driver’s door. The third guard is kneeling behind the checkpoint, gun trained on the back of the Crematauto, waiting for us to emerge. I weigh my odds. It’s an awkward shot, straining from a semi-prone position, wedged sideways between the seats. I count to three and take it anyway.
The Schutz Clone quivers for a second and then topples to the ground. I swallow hard. There wasn’t a better option than to take him out, but it doesn’t change how I feel inside, like I’m icing over. I exhale slowly, and then flick the switch on my gun to safety.
“Quick!” Sven reaches a hand into the Crematauto to pull me out. “He called for backup. We gotta go.”
I shove Tucker out of the vehicle first, then place my hand in Sven’s. A shiver runs up my arm when his huge hand closes over mine. So different to Jakob’s touch.
“Why can’t we take the Crematauto?” I ask.
“Once the Sweepers pinpoint the tracker on it, they’ll implode it,” Sven replies.
Mason drags Rummy out next, and tosses him over his shoulder. Sven pokes Lyong in the ribs with his M16. “Out!”
The doctor mutters something unintelligible and scoots himself forward a few inches. Sven grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him out. I wish we could leave him behind, but we might need him as collateral.
“Which way?” I ask, glancing in both directions.
Sven motions in front of him with his weapon. He moves off down the corridor, hauling the disgruntled doctor after him with his free hand. Mason falls in behind, Rummy draped across his shoulders. I take up the rear, glancing behind me every few feet. At least my hands are free so one of us can get a round off quickly if we come under attack. Mason’s at a huge disadvantage with Rummy’s dead weight on his shoulders. Reluctantly, I send Tucker up to flank him. If nothing else, he can alert him to any ambush from a side tunnel.
Alone with my dark thoughts, I question what I’ve done. The stench of death is on me now, and nothing will ever be the same.
Clone killer.
The crushing words sear my conscience. I’ve taken a life, no matter how I define that life, or how many units that life was destined to be.
The dimly lit tunnel stretches out in front like a black hole winding its way to the earth’s core. There’s no sign of movement up ahead, but I’m afraid even to blink in case the Schutz Clones attack. I’ve been counting on Tucker to forewarn us, but I’m still not sure clones have a scent he can pick up on.
I open my mouth to ask Mason about it. It’s the last thought I have before a calloused hand closes over my lips.
Chapter 32
I thrash around like a snared rabbit, but to no avail. A black fatigue-clad arm yanks me backward through a side door into a mechanical room of sorts. Tucker barks loudly as the door slams shut.
Blood pulses through me. My breathing is fast and fluttering. I feel like I’m drowning, desperate for one last chance at life before I succumb. Mustering my strength, I elbow my captor in the chest and pivot to free myself from his grasp. Balling my fist, I swing hard again and pack him square in the stomach with my elbow.
He wheezes, releases me, and staggers sideways. I fumble with my gun, frantically trying to chamber a round. I may not beat him to it, but I’d rather take a bullet than live out my days as a lab rat. Trembling, I pull the charging handle to the rear and release it.
“Derry?”
I wince as if I’ve been zapped. The barrel of my gun slides downward. I stare, openmouthed, at the figure doubled over in front of me, dressed in full Schutz Clone fatigues. He straightens up, clutching his stomach.
“Owen!” My jaw drops open. I hurl myself at him, wrapping my arms around him like locking pliers. Tears well and spill down my face. “I can’t believe it’s you!”
He stares back at me, equally dumbfounded. “I thought you were a Sweeper … the scrubs …”
“And I was sure you were a Schutz Clone,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Are you okay?”
Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) Page 18
