by Ellery Kane
Edison held his hand up. “You’re both right. We can’t just do nothing, but we can’t trust the police either. We’ll figure out how to get there, find the bomb, and expose them ourselves.”
Max looked skeptical. “Just that?”
“Getting there shouldn’t be hard,” Elana said, frowning at Max. “We can use the tunnel. It’s not far from the Embarcadero Station to the bridge.”
“And then?”
Elana winked at me. “We improvise.”
“Exactly, Red.” Edison grinned broadly. Still glowering at each other, Mr. Van Sant and my father momentarily retreated to their respective corners.
“What about Augustus?” I asked. “He doesn’t exactly blend in a crowd.” I talked over Augustus’ disdainful muttering. “And my dad and Carrie. They’re all fugitives.” So am I. I didn’t say it aloud, but it was obvious I was just as much of a target.
“They can hide in the tunnel,” Elana said. I’m not hiding. I’m not leaving Quin on that bridge alone. I didn’t say that out loud either.
“You were right about a lot of things,” I said to my father softly so that only he could hear me. “Like me being reckless … ” I stared at his wrists—red, raw reminders of his captivity. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t right, not about that. Reckless means not caring, and you’ve always had caring in spades. You care too much sometimes, but I can’t fault you for that. So did your mom, by the way.” There were questions burning my tongue—Did he know about the picture? Was my mother in love with Jamison Ryker? Did she have an affair with him?—but I let them simmer, unasked for now. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready to say them aloud, not to him. Even unspoken, I could feel their heat. I knew how badly they would burn.
I nudged my father. “Did you find out anything more about Radley?” I’d almost forgotten about his last assignment. His eyes brightened.
“I interviewed his mother. Turns out she knew String.” At the mention of the name, Max spun toward us, his curiosity as undeniable as gravity’s pull. “He’d been to the house a few times.”
“And?” I prompted.
My father shrugged dismissively. “They were happy to have him. I guess Peter had a hard time making friends. He’d been cyberbullied in high school, dropped out, and had some mental health issues. That was just before he was recruited for the Guardian Force. Anyway, she called String a nice young man, a real charmer. Apparently, Peter met him in a Guardian Force survivors’ chat room.”
Max sighed as our eyes met. “Shocker.”
“And … ” My father paused. I could tell he was preparing all of us for something unexpected, something monumental. “Radley’s father was a part of the Crim-X program.”
“What?” My question led a chorus of gasps. Even Mr. Van Sant was speechless.
“I didn’t believe it either at first, but his mother convinced me. She had a brief relationship with Inmate 490, James Sorensen, before he was incarcerated for murder. Nine months later, Peter was born. But by that time, Sorensen was in prison. She lost track of him for a year or two, didn’t even know he had been released as part of the Crim-X program until he contacted her. They stayed together for a little while, but when that first research group of inmates was forced to return to prison, she ended it. Never heard from him again. She told Peter he’d died.”
“Does the military know?”
“He wasn’t classified as a Legacy, but I’d be shocked if they didn’t.”
“So Emma and Radley, two Legacies at risk for the Prophecy gene, were recruited for the Elite Team.” I silently added Colton to that list. “I wonder how many of the asterisks in that file were at risk for the gene.”
Mr. Van Sant nodded at me. “You may be on to something. With a gene that supposedly predicts violence, they would certainly be a lot easier to scapegoat.”
Next to me, Carrie stirred a little, her breathing quickened. “Emma.” Her voice grew darker, deeper, as she thrashed about. “Emma! No!” My father reached to shake her awake, but she was stuck halfway between this world and another. “Emma!” Then her eyes opened—white and wide—like twin saucers. “Emma,” she said again, this time to my father, despairing. “How could we leave Emma?”
Carrie took an unsteady breath before she spoke again. “Have I been asleep for long?”
“An hour or so,” I told her. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” I passed her a bottle of water from the box we hauled back from the lab. She twisted off the cap, gulping it in one long swallow and set it down next to my own half-empty bottle.
“What happened?” She blinked, blinked, blinked at Augustus.
“You don’t remember?” I asked.
“Uh … am I still dreaming?”
Augustus stared back. “A pleasure to see you too, Ms. Donovan.”
Tentative, Carrie opened, then closed her mouth. I patted her arm. “Don’t worry about him.” She frowned a little but didn’t argue. “Do you remember being in the lab?”
Uncertain, she looked again to my father, then nodded. “We were there searching for supplies. Then we heard a voice—and a dog.” She petted Artos’ head, realizing. “We hid behind the boxes. That’s when I started to feel woozy. I heard Bill say it was safe. That was the last thing I remember.”
“You passed out,” he said. “Exhaustion, I guess. We brought you back here.”
“Here,” she repeated, finally taking in her surroundings. “Is this … ” She tried not to look at Augustus. “ … your office?”
“Has it been that long, Ms. Donovan? Surely, you recall.”
Carrie didn’t answer him. “What are you all doing here?” she asked me.
It was Max who broke the uneasy silence with a joke, the way he always did. “We missed this place. The sounds, the smells, the evil dictator.”
Carrie laughed. We all did. Even Augustus forced a smile. Afterward, I gave her the simplest, truest explanation, marveling at the paradox in my words. “This was the safest place we could find.”
CHAPTER SIXTY - ONE :
FLOWN
“So what happened to Emma?” I finally asked Carrie after we explained all that transpired since I drove away on Emma’s motorcycle three days ago. My father had been unable to answer the question, only knowing what he saw: his computerized cell door popping open yesterday evening, a soldier looking the other way as my dad walked past. Carrie was already out. She’d said nothing about Emma, skillfully dodging my father’s questions like a prizefighter.
Carrie shook her head, her eyes filling to the brim. “She … she stayed behind.” She lowered her head, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jumpsuit. “I should’ve never let her do that.”
“Did she help you escape?”
“I can only assume it was her. She kept saying she owed me for what I did for her, and she knew one of the soldiers assigned to the control room. He recognized her from the rehabilitation program. But I think they were pressuring her too. They knew she shot that commander on the bridge.”
“So they were still trying to recruit her?”
Carrie shrugged. “It certainly seemed that way. She was being interrogated longer and more often than your father and me. That night when the door opened, Emma wasn’t in her cell. I waited, but … ” Her voice broke a little under the weight of her guilt.
“Emma’s smart,” I said, ignoring the swift turn of disbelieving heads in my direction. “I’m sure she had a reason for staying behind.”
“You’re right.” Carrie gave me a sad smile. “I just hope she can handle it. She’s been through so much. She’s more vulnerable than you think, especially if what you said about Docil-E2 is true.”
My father cleared his throat, signaling a pronouncement. “So what are we waiting for?” With a grimace, he maneuvered to his knees and began to stand. “C’mon.” Surprised at his assertiveness, I raised my eyebrows at him but followed.
“What?” he asked. “Your mother’s not the only one who can rail against the
establishment. Let’s go find that bomb.”
A quick look at Max, Elana, and Edison confirmed what I was thinking. “Dad, we need to slow down and make a plan. The last time we rushed into things … ” There it was again—that bright bloom of blood on my mother’s chest. “ … people got hurt.”
Edison motioned to our meager stockpile. “We’re going to need a few more guns.”
Augustus shifted on his briefcase throne. “I may be able to help with that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The armory.”
Max shook his head. “The armory was bolted shut. We tried to get in.”
Augustus only grinned, sauntering to his desk and reaching inside the top drawer.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You have the key.” He jingled it in reply. “Well, you’re not going alone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Mr. Powers, would you like to accompany me?”
“And Artos,” I added. At the sound of his name, he wagged his tail at me and came to my side.
“Of course. Cujo is more than welcome.” Max took one of the lamps and Quin’s gun from the pile. He waited as Augustus unlatched the deadbolt.
“After you, Mr. Powers.” Summoning Artos with a pat of his leg, Max stepped back into the tunnel. Augustus remained as rigid as a pillar in the doorway.
“We’ll see you back here in ten minutes,” I said, ushering him out.
“Not so fast.” He reached down, securing the handle of his briefcase with a desperate grasp as if he expected me to pull it from his clutches. “There’s no way I’m leaving this behind.”
“It’s been fifteen minutes,” I said. “Fifteen and counting.” Dread crawled further up my spine, tickling my nerves like a snake’s tongue. Slither and hiss, slither and hiss.
“I’ll go look for them,” Edison said.
“I’m coming with you.” Elana and I spoke the words together. I couldn’t wait any longer, wondering. But before I put my hand to the door, I heard a sound from the other side of it. A desperate whimper. It was familiar in the worst possible way, like a recurring nightmare. As I pried the bolt loose, I tried to focus on my fingers, on the rusty squeaking of metal on metal—anything but the noises wrenching soft places inside of me. I opened the door already knowing what I would find.
Artos could barely open his eyes. He squinted up at me, rubbing his face with his paws. “Dad! Take him inside. He’s got something in his eyes.” My father scooped up Artos, cradling him like a baby as I ran to catch up with Edison and Elana, following the light from their lamp down the tunnel.
The armory was just past the lab. The door was already open, a dark invitation. “Max?” Edison called out as he kicked the door a little wider, swinging the lamp left to right and peering inside. Augustus didn’t lie. The armory was as stocked as I remembered. Rows of handguns and high-powered rifles were mounted on each wall, ammunition stacked to the ceiling.
“Look.” Elana pointed straight ahead to a flicker of light casting shadows on the wall. “There’s one missing.” Five slots—each labeled, Sniper Rifle. One was empty. Max’s lamp was overturned nearby, and a few bullets were scattered from an open box on the floor. I ran toward the chaos, hoping to find him there.
“Lex! Watch out!” I froze, my right foot teetering on the edge of something like oblivion. I caught my balance and took a step back before I looked down. In the center of the floor was a manhole. A rickety access ladder extended down into murky brown water—I couldn’t tell how deep. The walls were covered with graffiti.
“Max!” I yelled down into the hole. Only my own voice returned to me, distorted by the echo.
“What’s down there?” Elana asked.
Lamp in hand, Edison dropped to his stomach, the light illuminating a small corner of the darkness. “It’s an emergency overflow. It probably empties out into the ocean. These were San Francisco’s sewers about a hundred years ago.” Elana wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Secret tunnels under San Francisco?” I asked. “I thought that was a myth.”
Edison shrugged. “Looks pretty real to me.”
I rolled my eyes, annoyed, mostly with myself. Leave it to Augustus to escape via an urban legend.
I lowered myself to the cold ground. Elana lay next to me, staring down, down, down—her red hair falling around her face like a shroud. She didn’t move until she gasped. “It’s Max.” I followed her gaze across the water to a dry section of concrete barely within reach of the light. I watched until the lamp flickered just so—and for a breath, the glint from the rocks reflected the eyelet of a boot. Max’s boot.
“Max!” The abyss swallowed our collective voices and spit them back at us. Feet first, I reached for the ladder and started climbing the mossy green rungs to the muck below. To my relief, it only went up to my shins. I trudged forward, Elana and Edison right behind me. From somewhere unseen, I heard water trickling. It sounded like a whisper. Help me. I’m dying.
I could see Max, crumpled on the mud. There was a gash on his forehead—an angry, red knot growing around it. A rock, just the right size for Augustus’ hand, sat guiltless in the dirt. I exhaled when I saw Max’s fingers twitching with life. “He’s alive.”
Max groaned as we tried to move him. He half opened his eyes. “Pepper spray … and a big rock,” he mumbled before closing them again.
Fueled by indignation, I snatched the lamp from Edison and plowed down the tunnel, where the muck was deeper and colder. Find me. You’ll never find me. The water was talking to me again. “Augustus!” I screamed his name so loud my throat burned. Even if I couldn’t see him, I wanted him to hear me.
“Lex!” Edison caught up to me faster than I expected. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going after Augustus.” I turned my back to him. “He had this whole thing planned from the beginning. He took us where he wanted to go, and we followed. I can’t just let him … ” I took one step forward and found myself waist deep in water. “ … leave.”
Edison grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me back up. “We have to.” I stared down the tunnel, where the walls, the shadows, and the water became one. Something moved, shifted, pulsed.
“He’s there,” I insisted. “I see him.” Edison put his hand to the lamp, raising it with mine. But there was nothing—just my mind’s tricks and more darkness.
“Hey!” Elana called to us. “Max is awake.”
It wasn’t a choice—I had to turn back—but it felt like one. The hardest one. My pride hurt to swallow, choked me on the way down. And the water was saying I won.
Max was glassy-eyed but standing. He pointed at the wall when we returned. I held up the lamp to see a small bird etched in the rock. A bird had been here alright. A free bird. Augustus had taken flight … again.
CHAPTER SIXTY - TWO :
ARMORED
Mr. Van Sant and my father met us halfway down the tunnel. My legs felt heavy, weighed down by the muck dripping from my clothing and Max’s right arm draped around my shoulder. I passed them two handguns from my waistband. We’d each taken as many as we could carry.
“Where is that snake?” Mr. Van Sant asked, grimacing at the bruise on Max’s head, the perfect complement to his bloodshot eyes. Putting his hand to his own face, Max winced.
“Gone.” I was glad Edison answered because I didn’t want to admit it. “There’s a secret tunnel in the armory. Augustus pepper sprayed Max and Artos. When Max tried to come after him, he got a rock to the head.”
“And he took a sniper rifle with him,” Elana added.
Mr. Van Sant pounded the wall with his fist. He sighed, then began the trudge back to Augustus’ office. “We should’ve known. That pepper spray was probably in his desk drawer.”
“This is my fault,” Max said, relinquishing his grip on me and slogging ahead on his own. “He knew I was the weakest. That’s why he asked me to go with him.” I reached for Max to stop him, but he brushed my hand away. “He probably figured I’d be distra
cted, worrying about stupid String.”
Elana shook her head. “That’s crazy. You’re one of the toughest people I know.” He shrugged and kept walking, unconvinced.
“What did he say to you?” I asked, suspecting one of Augustus’ mind games.
“Nothing I didn’t already know.” There was a hard stop at the end of that sentence. Max was done talking for now.
“Any idea where the tunnel goes?” my father asked. I was grateful for his well-timed diversion.
“I thought all those abandoned sewer lines had been sealed off years ago,” Mr. Van Sant answered.
“Apparently not,” I said.
Dejected, we traipsed back toward Augustus’ office, finally catching up with Max. “Try the Map Room,” he grumbled, half-heartedly. I remembered the panoramic map spanning the length of the wall, plotting the citywide course of the BART tunnels.
Elana looked confused. “There were never any secret tunnels on that map.”
“Before you joined the Resistance, there was another map on that wall,” Max said with a little more vigor. “It had the sewer tunnels on it, the ones that lead to the water treatment plants and the ones that lead out.”
“What happened to the map?” I asked.
“Augustus commissioned a new one, but the old one is still there underneath.”
“Let’s go.” I felt a surge of energy and let it carry me. We couldn’t catch him, but at least we would know where Augustus was headed with that rifle. Next to me, Max matched my pace stride for stride. There was visible tension in his hurried gait. “Augustus told me something,” he finally said. “Something I didn’t know.” His sudden announcement stopped us all. “But I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to say it out loud.”
I put my hand on Max’s shoulder and watched his resistance give way. “Tell us.”
He breathed deep, staring down as he spoke. “He said String knows who killed Shelly. He’s known all along. He saw the murder.” Watching Max’s face twist in the agony of ambivalence, I wasn’t sure how to feel either. Betrayed? Elated? Worried? Enraged?
