Into Light (Shadow and Light Book 2)

by T. D. Shields

  “You’re so funny,” I said, pulling a face at my obnoxious friend. “Just for that, I’m going to make you watch this dreck while I take a nap.”

  If things went as we hoped with the evening newscast, we had a busy night ahead, so it made sense to get some rest while we had downtime. I rolled up my empty pack to use as a pillow and stretched out on the uncomfortable floor, where I dozed for a couple of hours before trading off with Sharra and then Lucas so they could nap.

  The wait was long and it was a relief when the theme song for the six o’clock evening news began to play. I was leaning against Lucas, using him as my back rest, so I reached around and tickled his ribs until he swiped at me sleepily and sat up to watch with us.

  The camera panned across a long anchor desk where three chairs sat empty. A small, golden-skinned brunette I recognized as Sanna Starr occupied the last chair.

  “Good evening, citizens,” Sanna said gravely. “As you can see, I am alone at the anchor desk tonight. In fact, I am alone in the studio tonight and running the broadcasting equipment myself via remote.” She held up one hand holding a slim remote wand to illustrate her point.

  “I want to make it clear that what I am about to say comes from me only. No other members of this news team or station should be held responsible for my actions.”

  “She’s very good,” Sharra murmured. “Anyone who wasn’t paying attention before is going to be watching now after that lead-in.”

  “Probably messaging all their friends to turn it on, too,” I agreed. “Which is just what we want.”

  Lucas shushed us as Sanna continued.

  “Like me, most of you remember exactly where you were on May 7, 2259. I was preparing for the late-evening holo when we received word of breaking news coming out of the White House. I vividly remember that night and how terrible it was to learn of the death of our beloved President Walker. And yet, as bad as it was for all of us as we heard second-hand accounts of the events in the White House, imagine how much worse it was for young Poppy Walker as she witnessed it for herself.

  “This is Poppy’s own account of what happened that night. You will also be able to see the text messages she sent to a trusted friend while hiding from murderers, expecting she would be discovered at any moment. Poppy never thought she would leave the White House alive, and one of her last moves was to ensure that the citizens of this nation received the true story of what had happened.”

  Sanna’s image faded from the holo, replaced by the recording I had made for Martín several weeks ago. When I’d filmed this video, Luna and Sharra had given me a small makeover to make me look like the First Lady people would easily recognize. With the long, dark-red wig and restrained, conservative makeup that hid the ink on my face, I looked much like I had before I’d had to run away to Denver.

  I stared at my own image. I knew it was me, but that girl, the one who looked like “Perfect Poppy,” felt like a stranger to me. I was a stronger person now, more able to take care of myself and others, but sometimes I missed the days when I had been so content in my story book life.

  I watched that other Poppy tell her story as if she were completely separate from me, copies of the texts I had sent displaying in the air beside her as she spoke. I was obviously biased, but the whole presentation seemed pretty convincing to me. If nothing else, it should hopefully give people another perspective to think about and to compare to Cruz’s story from last night.

  The video ended and faded away to a view of a completely empty anchor desk. Sanna had made her escape while the pre-recorded segment played. I silently wished her good luck as the view of the empty studio was abruptly replaced with the station logo. I imagined someone out there was scrambling to replace this broadcast with more innocuous programming.

  Lucas shut down the feed. We didn’t need to see any more. The message had gone out, and we had twelve hours to get into the White House and get ready for the next part of the plan.

  31

  Even though I had tested the tunnel access door earlier, I had a moment of worry as I placed my hand on the tiny palmprint scanner. If we couldn’t get into the tunnels, all our plans would implode. But the concealed door slid open immediately, revealing a dark shaft leading to the tunnels below the city.

  Lucas went first, having to twist a little to get himself and his pack through the small opening and then moved quickly down the ladder. A minute later we heard a soft whistle, the all-clear signal indicating that we should join him.

  Sharra slipped into the shaft and disappeared into the darkness. Roomie leaned into the chute, peering down at her as she descended the ladder. Even as I heard another whistle floating up from below to tell me that Sharra was clear of the ladder, Roomie leapt gracefully through the door. As a cat, he didn’t bother with the ladder.

  A third whistle let me know that Roomie was safely out of the way, making it my turn to enter the narrow passageway. I did a quick scan of the room to be sure nothing was left behind. The big room was empty of any sign we’d ever been here.

  I reached through the door, feeling in the darkness for the first ladder rung. I curled my hand around the cool iron bar and stepped into the shaft. Once I had my footing on the skinny ladder, I reached out with my left hand to touch the interior palmprint scanner and the door whispered closed behind me.

  I started down the ladder at a careful, measured pace, but adrenaline was racing through my veins and screaming at me to hurry, hurry, hurry. Giving up on slow and steady, I shifted my grip to the outside edges of the ladder, lifted my feet, and slid the last several feet to the floor. I landed with a small thud and spun around with a showy arm raise and a wide grin, only to see all three of them staring at me in concern instead of laughing as I’d intended.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see if they were worried about something behind me and saw nothing but a blank wall and the thin bars of the ladder. In a flash of insight, it occurred to me that they were probably concerned that I might have a hard time dealing with my return to these tunnels that I’d last visited while running for my life to escape my father’s assassins.

  Honestly though, by the time I’d reached this point during my escape, I’d been numb with exhaustion and shock. I really had no strong memories of the tunnels to relive now, only vague recollections of empty concrete hallways stretching for miles in front of me. It might be a different story when we reached the White House itself, but for now I was feeling nothing but impatience to get on with our plans.

  “Cha, I’m fine, you guys. Just ready to get moving and get this over with.”

  Lucas stared at me intently for a few breaths before deciding to take my word for it. “All right, then. Let’s go.” He gestured to the blank steel door blocking our entry to the next section of tunnels. “Open it up.”

  I adjusted the pack on my shoulders a little and tightened the straps as I walked across the small room. It felt strange to carry the nearly empty pack instead of bearing up under Roomie’s considerable weight, but he showed no signs of wanting to be carried.

  I touched the palmprint scanner, sending the door sliding noiselessly into the wall. We stepped across the threshold, and Lucas aimed his powerful flashlight down the corridor. When there was no sign of danger ahead, I used the scanner to close the door behind us.

  I led the way, setting out at the pace I generally used on patrol, not quite a walk, but not as quick as a jog either. Sharra fell into step beside me and Lucas brought up the rear. With his long legs, keeping up with me and Sharra would be nothing more than an energetic stroll for him. I was in no danger of outrunning the glow of his flashlight.

  Roomie ranged ahead of us as an advance guard, something that was very useful when we were on patrol in the convoluted streets of the city, but not quite as necessary here in this empty corridor. Roomie and I had been working together this way for so long that we fell into the routine without even thinking about it. It certainly wouldn’t hurt anything, and on the off chance that the tunnels were guarded
in some way, Roomie would be able to detect it and alert us to the danger.

  We reached the next door and paused to take a short break and down some water. I checked the time and saw that we’d covered the first mile in a bit less than fifteen minutes. Assuming we kept approximately the same pace, and allowing some leeway for rest breaks and slowing down a bit as we tired, I calculated that we should be able to cover the fifteen miles to the White House in around four hours.

  Sanna Starr’s broadcast had begun at six p.m., which meant the riots should kick off at six a.m. On our current schedule, we would have time to reach the tunnels directly beneath the White House before midnight. We could take time to sleep for a few hours and still have two to three hours to make final preparations. It seemed like plenty of time for what we needed to do, but there was no point in cutting it too close, so it was best to keep moving.

  I brushed my hand against the next door scanner to open it, and the flashlight revealed another stretch of straight, boring corridors leading into the distance. Roomie immediately took the lead by trotting into the tunnel before us with a commanding meow. We followed obediently, pausing only long enough for me to close the door again before setting out on the second mile.

  We kept to this routine for the next several miles. When we reached the door separating mile eight from mile nine, we took a longer break to eat and rest our legs. Lucas passed around apples and energy bars from his pack, and we each took another water tube.

  Lucas had also thought about Roomie. He emptied a pouch of dried beef into a small container saved from Roomie’s earlier meals, then broke the seal on a tube of water and filled another dish so Roomie could have a drink.

  I squeezed Lucas’s hand in thanks. “You’re a prince,” I told him honestly, leaning in to drop a kiss on his lips. “Thanks for taking care of all of us.”

  Lucas slid his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me back for another, longer kiss. For a few moments, I forgot about our mission as I returned the kiss with interest. The moment didn’t last long before we were interrupted by a gagging sound from Sharra.

  “Cha, enough of that! Save the kissy-face stuff for some time that I don’t have to sit here and watch it.” She softened the words with a grin, and we pulled apart.

  Banned from his first choice of recreational activity, Lucas pulled out his tablet instead. He tapped at the screen to search for an available data signal. We were too far underground to get a strong or fast connection, but he found one clear enough to let him check a few sites for breaking news. Nothing was happening yet. That’s exactly how it was supposed to be, of course. Nothing was supposed to happen until six in the morning. But I couldn’t help but worry that the lack of reaction meant that the message hadn’t been received.

  A sharp kick on my ankle broke into my worried thoughts, and I yelped and glared at Sharra.

  “Stop stressing out,” she told me. “Either it will happen or it won’t, and we won’t know until it does or it doesn’t.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “I’ve obviously spent too much time with you because I actually understood that. But you’re right,” I conceded. “Should we get moving?”

  The second half of our trip to the White House took a little longer. Tired, we couldn’t keep up the same pace. Still, it was not yet midnight when we reached the final door blocking the main tunnel from the small branches that led to various access points into the White House itself.

  We all stretched out to try and sleep or at least zone out and rest a little. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I was out before Roomie’s first rumbling snore hit the air.

  A soft buzzing from Lucas’s tablet woke us from our short sleep at four a.m.. I felt more tired now than I had before we’d stopped to rest. I doled out tubes of my precious Pepsi supply to give us each a bit of caffeinated faux-energy, and my friends were appropriately grateful for my sacrifice.

  We were ready to head into the White House. Too exhausted to come up with possible disaster scenarios at this moment, I just touched the scanner and opened the last door without fanfare.

  Sharra had the flashlight now, and she panned it around the little alcove where we stood. As the light touched different areas, I told them what I knew.

  “The stairs straight ahead go up to the library. That’s where I escaped from,” I whispered. It was incredibly unlikely that anyone would hear us through the walls and doors that concealed these escape tunnels, but that was no reason to take chances. We couldn’t be sure that new security measures hadn’t been implemented since Cruz took charge.

  “If we go up those stairs into the Residence, we can get to the library and a bunch of reception rooms and formal dining rooms on the ground floor or up to the bedrooms for the First Family and guests on the second and third floors.

  “The hallway on the right would take us to the West Wing. It leads to a set of stairs hidden behind Secret Service offices on the ground floor, which take you up one floor to a small alcove in the walls of the Cabinet Room. From there it splits, and you can go south to the Oval Office or west to some offices and conference rooms. There’s also another set of stairs that would get us to more offices and conference rooms on the third floor.

  “If we take off to the left, we would go to the East Wing. That’s really just a bunch of offices for aides and staff, and there’s just one hidden passage running along the back side of the building.

  Lucas followed my lead and spoke in a whisper. “The First Lady’s office is in the East Wing, right? So it would be close to the soldiers’ barracks for human soldiers and the mech stations?”

  “Right. The barracks and mech stations aren’t connected to the White House, but really they’re only a few yards away. You don’t want the security force too far from the main house.”

  “We need to head that way first then. I’m pretty sure I can keep the mechs out of the fight, but the closer we are, the better my chances.”

  “Left it is then.”

  I opened the next door and led my friends through the walls to the East Wing. It was hard to walk back into my old life like this. Creeping through the walls instead of walking through the hallways only underscored the changes that had occurred. I missed my father, who had been the one to teach me how to find my way through these passages. I wished I could turn back the clock to stop everything Cruz and his cronies had done … but then I wouldn’t have met Lucas, or Sharra, or Roomie. I couldn’t imagine my life without them, either. Maybe what I really wished is that I had just been born into a different life, one where my father and I had lived in Denver all along so I could have had my friends and my family, too.

  “Poppy?” Sharra whispered, touching my elbow. “Which way do we go now?” I realized that we were standing at a junction between the Residence and the East Wing. My friends were waiting for me to lead the way while I stood there lost in thought. I pulled myself together and led them down the next passage.

  What everyone referred to as The White House was actually three large buildings connected by a series of slidewalks, and getting from one building to another was already quite a long distance. Taking the hidden paths secreted inside walls and beneath floors created a convoluted route that took even longer, so it was almost five-thirty by the time we finally arrived in the space just behind the First Lady’s office.

  Peering through the spy holes into my old office was surreal; it still looked like I had only stepped away for the evening. My throat tightened as I saw my note-tab lying on the desk, waiting for me to turn it on and get to work. My e-reader still sat in the comfy armchair where I liked to take a break in the afternoons. I briefly considered ducking into the room long enough to retrieve the little device. It would be nice to take my books back to Denver with me. But I knew it wasn’t worth the risk right now, so I made a mental note to come back and grab the e-reader later if I could.

  32

  I turned back to my friends. Lucas was sitting on the floor, and I slid down the wall to sit next to him wit
h Sharra on my other side. Roomie insistently nudged his way into my lap as soon as I sat down. I noticed that even though Lucas had his knees bent slightly, his toes were nudging the far wall because the passageway was so narrow at this point. It was a good thing none of us were claustrophobic. I stretched my own legs out, grateful for their short length for a change.

  As much as I would have liked to lean against Lucas’s shoulder, I didn’t want to hamper him as he quickly pulled out his tablet along with a tiny gadget that looked like a satellite dish no larger than my thumb and a brick-like gray box with a couple of connectors trailing from one side. He quickly connected the accessories to his tablet and engaged the holo interface. His fingers flew across the virtual keyboard as he accessed and manipulated some kind of data.

  Sharra leaned into me and let her head drop onto my shoulder, already asleep. The warmth of Sharra pressed against my side, the soothing vibrations of Roomie’s purring, and the oddly hypnotic streams of data flowing across the tablet display encouraged my eyelids to droop as well. I’m sure it would have been more polite to stay awake with Lucas as he worked, but I couldn’t stave off the need for sleep any longer. I promised myself that I would be sure to give him a chance to take a nap later.

  It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a moment before Lucas woke me with a gentle shoulder shake, but a quick glance at my watch showed that almost an hour had passed. It was eleven minutes after six. The riots should be taking shape right now.

  I only had to raise an eyebrow at Lucas, and he knew what I was asking. He shook his head and murmured, “No news yet, but it’s early still.

  I was twitchy with impatience and worry, but I knew he was right. Even if the rebel groups had begun exactly twelve hours from the broadcast, they’d only barely had a chance to get started. The police and military authorities would still be mustering a response, and civilian journalists would need a little longer yet to learn what was happening and begin reporting on it.