The Tunnel War

by Kevin George

  “We never should’ve come this far,” Carli snapped.

  Wyatt frowned, nodding. “I’ll go out there. . . onto the street. . . I’ll raise my hands and turn myself over to them. . . whoever they are. I’ll convince them to let you go.”

  Carli sighed. “If I wanted to leave, I could’ve flown away whenever I wanted. Stop being stupid and let’s find another way.”

  Wyatt nodded and they headed in the opposite direction, peering around the corner of the building the next street over. Though the sun shined brightly on the rest of the city—clouds clearing the one time Carli and Wyatt wished for darkness—the street they looked out upon was noticeably darker than anywhere else they’d been. A glance up showed why.

  “I remember seeing this the first time we flew over the city,” Carli said.

  Wyatt snickered. “Yeah, hard to forget something like that. At least it’ll give us shadows to hide in.”

  Neither was in a rush to enter the giant shadow cast by a massive building leaning all the way to one side, propped up by the building across the street. As amazing as it had been to see while flying over, the sight of the tilted building was more daunting from ground level. It had obviously been wedged against the other building for a long time, but Wyatt and Carli both hesitated to rush beneath it, nervous that getting too close might cause it to collapse.

  A gust of wind swirled down the alley behind them, bringing with it the hint of whispers, the exact words unintelligible. Carli and Wyatt spun, neither finding anything but empty alley behind them, but both ready to hurry away. They rushed down the street, approaching the shadow of the building. A snowbank dropped nearly twenty feet to the shadow, the tilted building blocking most of the snow at street level. Carli and Wyatt looked for another building to cut through, but several shadowy figures emerged from alleys behind them, ending any doubt about whether they’d gone unnoticed.

  Wyatt turned to the shadows and stopped, but only for a moment. Carli grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the snowbank, pulling him down to his backside so the two could slide down the embankment. Once they were in the shadows, Carli whispered that they needed to hurry. They ran across the black, cracked concrete covered by a thin layer of blown snow, their feet moving so quickly—without any snow to sink into—that Wyatt and Carli nearly tripped several times. It didn’t help that they spent as much time staring straight up as they did looking in front of them.

  Stray rays of sunlight made it down to the street, filtering through broken sections of window at the top and bottom of the building. When the wind blew, the building turned it into a high-pitched whistle; when the wind was nonexistent, creaking echoed from above, a threat to send the building toppling onto Carli and Wyatt. A glance to the side showed the base of the building intact and rooted to the ground, the break coming nearly a dozen stories up.

  They ran next to each other, aiming for the snowbank on the far side of the shadow, unsure whether they were more afraid of the unstable building or the shadowy figures that had reached the top of the snowbank behind them.

  “We’re almost there,” Carli said as they reached the next snowbank.

  They no sooner climbed a few feet than the first shadowy figure emerged atop the snowbank in front of them, staying back a few steps so Carli and Wyatt could only see a small part of him. Carli grabbed Wyatt’s arm, pulling so hard that they both lost their balance and fell, sliding back to the street below. Wyatt’s bags clanked and clanged along the way. As they scrambled to their feet, a second shadow appeared, followed by a third and fourth. Within seconds, more than a dozen silhouettes lined the top of the snowbank, slowly stalking forward, their hulking figures made more intimidating by the shadow of weapons grasped in their hands.

  Wyatt raised a hand and started forward, but Carli grabbed his other arm and snapped for him to run. He did as she said. When they spotted another line of figures descending the opposite snowbank, they had no choice but to turn and rush into the lobby of the intact building supporting the tilted building. It was strange to find the interior in such pristine condition, with only a light coating of dust to show the building hadn’t been functional for decades. Wyatt nearly pointed that out when Carli gave his arm a firm yank. They hurried through the lobby and into a dark hallway beyond.

  “Maybe they’ll leave us alone now,” he said.

  But the echo of footsteps ahead debunked that hope, bringing them both to a sudden halt. They waited a few seconds, trying to silence their heaving breathing, listening as the footsteps and whispers grew nearer. In unison, they turned and hurried back toward the lobby but heard footsteps coming from that direction as well. Carli yanked Wyatt to the side, hurling them both through the door of another stairwell. They expected it to be dark and quiet, but a glance up showed natural light shining in high above, as well as the distant shrill of swirling wind. An occasional snowflake drifted down, one landing perfectly on the tip of Carli’s nose as she looked up.

  “The other building. . . it broke through this one?” Wyatt asked.

  “Did you expect it to be leaning gently?” Carli said, pulling him toward the steps.

  “Are you sure it’s safe up there?”

  Carli shook her head. “Obviously not. But maybe we’ll find a place to hide. . . or maybe whoever’s following us isn’t stupid enough to climb up there.”

  Wyatt swallowed hard, but the weight of his packs reminded him that he needed to survive, he needed to take hold of his destiny and do everything in his power to escape his pursuers and prevent the GPS from falling into the wrong hands. He followed Carli, catching up to her near the second floor, overtaking her by the third, slowing down so she could keep up. Not surprisingly, she didn’t like when he waited.

  “Keep going!” she snapped breathlessly.

  A boom echoed beneath them. A glance down showed the door on the ground floor flung open, shadowy figures streaming into the stairwell. Quiet whispers turned to louder grunts, their words incomprehensible, if the noises they made were actually words. Adrenaline could only fuel Wyatt and Carli for so long, and both wondered—yet did not speak aloud—if dropping their respective packs would give them a better chance to escape.

  “Can’t. . . much longer. . . need to find a place to hide,” Wyatt said several stories down from the break in the stairwell wall.

  Carli nodded. When they reached the next level, Wyatt hobbled to the door, no idea what he’d find on the other side, praying there’d be somewhere to hide long enough to rest. He turned the door handle and pushed, meeting resistance after a few inches. He pushed harder when the door suddenly seemed to push back, followed thereafter by an angry grunt. Carli and Wyatt looked at each other. Immediately recognizing what had happened, the two threw themselves at the door in unison, crashing into whoever waited on the other side. The door opened enough for them to see someone sprawled on the floor.

  “Higher!” Carli yelled.

  Another surge of adrenaline propelled them up the staircase, the footsteps and yells and blurs of movement coming closer and closer. A few more stories up and they reached the break in the stairwell, where they saw a section of the tilted building up close. With their path now blocked, they only had one place to go. They stared at the door and then to each other.

  “What if—”

  “Doesn’t matter, we’ll deal with whatever’s in there,” Carli said, hurrying through the door.

  Wind whipped both of their faces, cold and strong and stinging. Carli and Wyatt grabbed hold of each other to avoid stumbling, as slightly-sloped floor made it hard to keep their balance. An entire wall of windows was smashed out and seemed to want to drag them in its direction. Had their situation been different, Carli would have insisted they turn around and go anywhere else. But she knew the shadowy figures were just behind them and heading to the top of the sloped floor—away from the broken windows—would only trap them in a corner from which they could not escape.

  Carli released her grip on Wyatt’s arm and slid her hand into
his. Their eyes locked for a moment and she frowned. She glanced toward the empty windows—and what awaited just beyond—before looking to Wyatt and nodding. He shook his head, but she squeezed his hand in what she intended to be a reassuring way.

  “It’s our only choice,” she said.

  His eyes widened and jaw clenched, but he nodded and allowed himself to be pulled along. They moved slowly at first, cautiously, the floor sloping steeper as they approached the empty window frames. Wyatt glanced back, watching the black-clad figures stream through the doorway but come to a halt right away, staying back from certain danger. Carli kept her eyes forward the entire time, hurrying toward the danger, her feet slipping on broken glass and a thin layer of snow and ice, reaching out at the last moment to grab the empty window frame to stop them.

  Wyatt looked out of the window, his head spinning at how high they were. His grip on the frame was the only difference between staying in the building and falling out. But falling didn’t mean plunging twenty floors to the snowy street. Ten feet below them was the toppled building, most of its glass strangely intact, as if a giant had gently pushed it over and leaned it against the other building. Some parts of the tilted building were covered in snow; others were pockmarked with holes where glass windows had broken away.

  “Well,” Carli said, trying to sound flippant but failing miserably, “you wanted a way to escape.”

  She nodded toward the sloped side of the leaning building. Wyatt shook his head.

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  But it was clear they’d been heading toward this conclusion from the moment they’d stepped onto this floor. They peeked back to see a few dark figures inching their way forward, their weapons raised. Carli squeezed Wyatt’s hand and gave a reassuring nod. She inhaled deeply and jumped; he held his breath and leapt moments later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  King Edmond’s hand shook, an instinctual reaction whenever he descended into the palace’s lowest level. For the first time in months, he headed toward the room in the back, but it wasn’t for the reason he normally visited the room. That thought made him stop and squeeze his eyes shut, fighting away the shiver that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Not today, he told himself, focusing on breathing deeply, his hands shaking a little less with each exhale. When he opened his eyes, he looked down to see his hands still gripping the syringe of green liquid. Don’t want to mistakenly poke myself with this.

  As he approached the end of the hall, he spotted a pair of guards standing at attention in front of the final door. Both men bowed when Edmond reached them.

  “Your Illustriousness,” they said in unison.

  “Any trouble?” the king asked.

  The guards glanced to the door and then at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Though they were two of the largest, toughest men remaining in One, the guards wore matching expressions of concern. They shook their heads before one finally had the courage to speak.

  “He. . . it. . . it’s quiet now,” the guard whispered. “But sometimes there are noises. . . strange noises coming from in there. . . noises unlike anything I’ve ever heard. . . not like any noise a human could make.”

  “I understand,” the king said. “I want to go in.”

  The guards’ eyes widened. “Your Illustriousness, are you certain? I don’t know if—”

  King Edmond massaged his shaky hands, fighting the urge to snap and plunge the syringe into the eye of anyone who’d question him. Instead, he forced an unamused smile and slipped the syringe into the pocket of his robes.

  “I know what I’m doing,” he assured the worried guards. “The Lord and Jonas have foreseen my safety.”

  The guards nodded, one of them unlocking the door before stepping aside. Taking a deep breath—but doing so quietly so the guards wouldn’t see—Edmond turned the handle and opened the door just enough to squeeze inside, quickly closing it behind him. The king’s eyes were drawn instinctively to the floor and walls, where he saw the faded splatters of blood soaked into the rock, memories of more pleasant times.

  “You finally decided to come with me, King Jonas?” a lilting voice asked from across the room.

  Edmond smiled, his first genuine smile in as long as he could remember. He looked to Love, sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving except for a slight twitch in his neck that turned his head side to side. Love’s long, heavy jacket sat folded in the corner, his frail body—far thinner than when he’d first traveled Below—covered by rags. He looked sickly, especially with the ring of fallen feathers on the floor.

  Still, Love’s expression remained serene, almost amused, a feeling shared by the king. Edmond wondered how someone—or something, whatever a Sky Person actually was—could show such indifference to the awful position he was in.

  “Afraid not,” the king said. “Sorry I haven’t come for a while. I’ve had to handle one problem after another.”

  Love smiled, his skin pulling taut over his pointy mouth, a feather breaking free from his cheek and fluttering onto the bed.

  “I understand the Descendant must be very busy,” Love said.

  “Ah, yes, the Descendant,” the king said. “How does that story go again?”

  Without hesitation, Love filled him in on the story as he knew it, from The Mountain, to One Corp.’s history, to his kind—the Aviaries, as he called them, not the Sky People as the king heard them referred as—searching for the Descendant, whose blood was tied directly to production of the Aviary Blast. King Edmond reached into his pocket and removed the syringe, holding it high for Love to see.

  “Your stories made me think of this.”

  Love’s smile disappeared and he leapt to his feet. His back flexed, causing his shirt to bulge. The king backed up, holding the syringe like a sword, ready to lash out at the first sign of Love’s aggression. But Love’s body calmed and his back flattened.

  “I apologize,” he said, lowering his head. “The Aviaries were once born strong, and some grow into that strength, unbeknownst to those in The Mountain. But I remained strongest from receiving regular injections. I haven’t had one for a long time. You have Aviary injections here?”

  King Edmond shook his head. “I know nothing of Aviary injections. I only know the beasts need this. . .”—he shook the syringe—“. . . to become stronger. It doesn’t quite change humans into beasts. . . at least not fully.”

  Love’s eyes flitted from side to side, following the syringe wherever the king moved it.

  “Must be a tempered version of Aviary injection without the genetic modifier,” Love said. “Still enough to return me to full strength.”

  “I thought you’d be interested in it,” the king said. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you locked in here for so long. Some of my followers want you destroyed—and I have to admit, at times I considered doing it—but I always had a feeling there was something special about you, some reason to keep you alive.”

  “Because I’m the one destined to retrieve the Descendant,” Love said with utter certainty. “The Board has told me so.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed on Love. Love had told him of The Board before, though he provided few details about the mysterious group. Still, King Edmond did not like the sound of any person or entity that wielded the same amount of power that he did.

  “Yes. . . The Board,” the king said with a frown. “As you know, I can’t abandon my kingdom and turn myself over to have my blood drained in some sort of scientific experiment; that wouldn’t be very kingly of me, would it?”

  Love shook his head. “I suppose not.”

  “With that said, there is a way for you to get this. . .”—he shook the syringe again—“. . . while also retrieving a Descendant, all while doing a great service for me.”

  Edmond expected excitement or gratitude from Love, but the Sky Person smiled knowingly. “Your son,” Love said, surprising the king. “The one who’s with. . . Emma Weller?”

  Edmond stepped back, his brow creasi
ng, angry that Love wasn’t as foolish as the king assumed. He held the syringe high, ready to smash it against the floor, the sight causing Love to shake his head and chirp in fear.

  “How do you know that? How do you know her name?”

  “Jonas isn’t the only well-known name from history,” Love said. “Of course I’ve heard of the Wellers, too.”

  The king gritted his teeth and nodded. “Well, my family situation is a bit. . . complicated. My current wife is very pregnant and should birth our child any day now.”

  “The blood of an infant is even purer,” Love said.

  King Edmond jabbed the syringe at the air in front of him, causing Love to recoil on the bed again.

  “Don’t even think about my new child,” he snapped. “Oliver and the Weller girl are both foolish kids. I’ve tried to make peace with my son, but he’s shown an unwillingness to compromise. The only way to deal with him was war in the Main Tunnel, but I don’t want to risk loss of life when there’s so much work to be done in The Fifth.”

  “That’s where I come in?” Love asked.

  The king nodded. “Nobody but a few of my closest guards knows of your existence. You could swoop through the Main Tunnel, grab my son and be given free passage to leave the city.”

  Love squawked, long and low, his feathery brow furrowing. “You’d allow your son to be taken?”

  King Edmond’s expression hardened and he crossed his arms. “If he continues refusing to comply with my orders—if he chooses war—then he’ll be no son of mine. I also hope you’ll forgive my insistence on your imprisonment. Understand that it was done for your safety, as well as the safety of everyone in my city.”

  Love nodded. “You don’t want problems with The Mountain and my kind.”

  “I’ve heard tales of Sky People and their issues with the Dome,” King Edmond said. “I hope there won’t be a repeat of that past, especially since I’m willing to help you.”

  Love chuckled, high-pitched and lilting. “Funny that you refer to my kind as the Sky People. We had our own tales of other people coming from somewhere among the clouds. Most Mountainers never believed them.”