Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (26 page)

I shake my arms out of my jacket and yank an extra shirt from my pack.

“Don’t waste your time.” Owen stares at me with a gauzy look in his eyes that terrifies me.

“Listen to me! You’re gonna be okay.” My voice cracks as an image of Da slipping away in my arms flashes to mind. I swallow back a gut-wrenching sob and hurriedly tie my flannel shirt around the entry wound in Owen's thigh. “This is all the combat care you get for now.” I force a tight smile through my tears as I cover him with my jacket. “Hang tough.”

He leans back, his eyelids fluttering.

I heave a few deep breaths and then pull myself into position with renewed vigor. I’ve done what I can to stem the bleeding. The only way Owen's getting out of here alive is to finish them off like he said.

Most of the lights have been shot out, but I can still make out the basic layout of the room. The air is thick with dust and my eyes water as I struggle to line up my gun’s sight in the dimly lit space. I spot an injured clone crawling for cover beneath a conveyer belt, and quickly put a bullet in his head.

The shot echoes and I realize with a start that the gunfire has broken off. A jolt of hope goes through me. Judging by the fatigue-clad shadows heaped around the room, the Schutz Clones were as blindsided by the attack as I was.

I maneuver forward a few feet on my elbows and signal to Mason by forming an “O’ and a thumbs up that Owen's alive. Mason holds up two meaty fingers and points to a badly damaged computer rack, leaning precariously to the left. The loose wiring in front sways ever so slightly back and forth, a good indication someone bumped the rack when taking cover. I make a sweeping gesture with my hand to tell Mason to flank it from his side. He nods and begins worming his way forward beneath the conveyer belts. I approach from the other side, catching my breath when I wriggle into an ossified corpse. It’s all I can do not to gag. After a moment, I slither forward again, careful not to look down this time.

Ten feet from the rack, I pull myself up into a crouch. Mason follows my lead. I ready my weapon and slice through the air with my hand.

We circle in like wolves, blasting round after round as we run to the back of the unit. I pull up short when I see the Schutz Clones, one half-ossified, the other bleeding profusely, head hinged back, staring up at the vents as though that’s where he expected the shots to come from. Mason finishes him off and I turn aside, not wanting to watch another one of them crumble into powder.

“Good work,” Mason says. “They were the last two.”

I glance around to be sure, and then dart back through the wreckage to check on Owen.

His head is flopped to one side, eyelids fastened shut. His chest moves slowly up and down, so I know he’s still alive, for now. We’ll have to move quickly or he won’t be for much longer. I hunker down beside him and whistle for Tucker, holding my breath until I hear him bounding across the room toward me. Weak with relief, I gather him in my arms and squeeze him until he squirms free.

Sven pokes his head around the supply bins and looks at me questioningly.

“Owen's alive, barely,” I mumble.

Sven grimaces. “Rummy’s still breathing, for what it’s worth. Slept through the whole show.”

Tucker contemplates Owen for a moment before gently licking his fingers. Owen's eyes pop open and pivot uncertainly.

I lean over him, willing him to focus. “We did it, Owen! We finished them off.”

He smiles past me through clenched lips.

“Let’s go!” Mason slaps the side of a supply bin. “I’ll take Owen.”

I look up in time to see a long, rope ladder tumbling down from an opening in the air duct closest to us. Mason drops to one knee at Owen's side. He slides an arm beneath his head and another under his legs, and then slowly gets to his feet. I’m hit with a fresh pang of guilt when I think of how abominably I’ve treated Mason. Without him, I’d never get Owen out of here alive.

With Sven’s assistance, Mason drapes Owen carefully over his left shoulder, and then kicks at his pack with his boot. “Bring my gear, Derry. Sven can take Tucker.”

“What about Rummy?”

Mason narrows his eyes. “Charity case stays here. We did what we could.”

The rope ladder sways precariously when Mason steps onto it. Owen moans softly. I grab the ladder and hold it taut while Mason climbs. He pulls himself effortlessly up one rung at a time. When he reaches the top, several pairs of arms reach down and lift Owen from his shoulders and out through the vent. I nod to Sven and he loads his pack on, and then leans over and scoops Tucker up by the belly. I keep my eyes fixed on Tucker to reassure him it’s all part of the plan, but halfway up he whines, ears aloft, and wriggles to get free of Sven’s grip.

“Stay!” I raise the palm of my hand and he reluctantly settles back down, his eyes willing me to follow him.

Moments later Sven hands him through the vent and climbs out after him. I swing Mason’s pack over my shoulder and place one foot on the bottom rung. It’s an awkward load, with my own pack already strapped to my back, and I’m forced to adjust my stance several times before I’m comfortable attempting the thirty-foot climb.

I reach for the rope, and then hesitate, not sure where the sharp rush of fear that hit me came from. I throw a hasty glance around but no ghosts float up from the ossified remains.

I shake off the foreboding feeling and haul myself onto the next rung of the ladder.

An unsteady footfall. Six o’clock.

The hair on the back of my neck electrifies. I twist my head around, my neck crawling with fear, but I can’t see a thing over the packs. I jump back down off the ladder and pivot.

My breath lodges like icicles in my throat.

Rummy edges toward me, eyes feverish and dilated, a serrated knife in his hand.
A Schutzmesser
. Laced with blood. He must have taken it from a dead clone,
or killed one
.

“You left me to die,” he hisses, stabbing at the air like a man possessed.

“No! We rescued you, Rummy! Lyong took you to Sektor Sieben.”

“Left one of those bloodsuckers alive to finish me off, didn’t you? But guess who ain’t dead yet!” Rummy raises his blade a few inches, and jabs it again in my direction. I look in his eyes, and I know he’s considering it.

Suddenly, the blood on the blade fades to ivory and wafts to the ground like crumbling plaster. Rummy’s eyes bulge. He stares at me for a long moment and then carefully wipes the knife clean on his pants.

I stretch out my hand to him. “You can come with us, but give me the knife first.”

He takes an unsteady step backward and runs the tips of his fingers menacingly over the blade. I groan inwardly. My gun is stashed in my pack and I can’t reach it without unloading Mason’s gear first.

“We need to go,
now
, Rummy. This place will be crawling with Schutz Clones any second.”

“What you waitin’ for, Butterface?” He hikes the corner of his bottom lip up into a threatening grin. “I’ll be right behind you.” His eyes flash deliriously and I think better of challenging him again.

I turn and reach for the ladder. I have no choice but to start climbing. I tense the muscles in my back, fully expecting the Schutzmesser to sink between my shoulder blades at any minute.

Rummy clambers onto the bottom rung when I’m ten or so feet off the ground. Fueled by a new rush of adrenaline, I pull myself up from one rung to the next. The ladder sways precariously with both of our weight and the loaded packs. I climb furiously, but the vent is a long way off. Anything can happen between here and there. I throw a glance back down at the floor and flirt with the idea of kicking Rummy off the ladder when we get up a little higher. If I clock him just right on the head with my boot, it might work. But it’s the kind of thing that could go horribly wrong. I might end up being the one tail spinning thirty odd feet to my death.

The packs weigh me down like boulders. My neck screams with pain as I push my muscles to work harder. If I can stay far enough ahead of Rummy, Mason could possibly take a shot. He must have seen Rummy by now, seen the knife too, so at least he knows he’s armed.

I push my body harder. I won’t die on this ladder at the hands of a Rogue. Not after surviving an attack by Schutz Clones. Legs buckling, I finally reach the top of the ladder and grasp at the firm hands reaching through the vent to help me. A jolt of electricity shoots through me when the familiar fingers close over mine.

Jakob's hands!

Tears well up at the cruel trick my frazzled mind is playing on me. I peer up into the dark air duct, blinking furiously, and for half a heartbeat, I think I see his blurred face. I teeter precariously on the edge of a rung, confused and disoriented.

My head snaps backward. The loaded packs pull on me, heavy as drowning men, wrenching my arms from their sockets. My fingers begin to slip when, suddenly, I’m grabbed by the armpits and yanked up through the vent opening.

I lay on the floor, beetle-like and helpless—Tucker furiously licking my face in some kind of canine resuscitation ritual—until I’m unceremoniously flipped over and the packs pulled from my back. Tucker gives a short bark and nudges me for a response, but my mouth is so dry my lips have set like concrete. Someone helps me into a sitting position and holds a canteen of water to my lips. I gulp, greedily, my mind slowly clearing as the liquid floods my cells.

“Derry! Are you okay?”

Jakob leans over me, his face creased with concern.

My chest convulses like I’ve just been shocked back to life. I stretch out trembling fingers to touch him, praying he doesn’t disappear like a mirage.

He folds his arms around me and laughs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I breathe in the sawdust-and-leather scent of him. My safe place. For a long moment I cling to him, gripped by the irrational fear that he’ll disappear again. “You’re alive,” I whisper into his chest.

“The Council rescued me from that Sweeper attack on the trail,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you got away.”

“How did you know we were here?”

“I was on the plane that attacked your Hovermedes. We thought it was Sweepers.” He pauses, blinking back tears. “We saw the second Hovermedes extract you and Mason. I persuaded the Council to attempt a rescue.”

“Time to move out!” Mason barks. “I’ll take Owen and lead the way to the docking station.”

“Why aren’t we going back out the way the Council came in?” I ask.

“Security’s swarming all over the vent access now,” Jakob says. “There’s no way we can get by them.”

I peer over Jakob's shoulder at several unfamiliar faces gathering up their packs. I’m surprised to see that none of them look much older than me. It’s not an encouraging visual. I was banking on the Council being a force to be reckoned with.

I suddenly become aware of Sven staring unabashedly at me. I pull apart from Jakob, unsettled by Sven's attention. I’m not sure what it is I feel when his eyes are on me. Surely there can’t be that kind of chemistry between a clone and a human? Or can there?

I get to my feet, relieved to see that Rummy’s hands are secured behind his back. Given the choice, he must have decided to cooperate.

One of the strangers grabs Mason’s pack. I reach for my own, my shoulders screaming in protest. Without a word, Jakob takes it from me. I can’t help but notice the brooding look he gives Sven.

“Thanks,” I say, somewhat embarrassed, but relieved I won’t have to lug my supplies any farther on my aching shoulders. I fall in behind Mason and Jakob.

“How’s Owen doing?” I call up to Mason.

“Breathing,” he replies, without breaking his stride. “We need to get that bullet out.”

“Jakob can do it,” I say.

Mason gives a curt nod. “Soon as we’re safely out of here.”

We move, single file, along the air duct, bending at the waist to avoid bumping our heads at occasional low spots. Tucker lopes at my side, his faith in me renewed now that I’ve rescued him from Sven the Dog Catcher. Jakob walks directly in front of me. Sven and the remaining Council members take up the rear.

“How many are in the Council?” I ask Jakob.

He shrugs. “There’s thirty or so of us.”

I press my parched lips together. It’s not what I wanted to hear. So far, the Council in the flesh is dashing any real hope I had of eliminating the Sweepers.

“Thirty of
us.
” I give a hollow laugh. “Sounds like you’re a shoe in.”

“I
am
in,” Jakob replies.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m staying with the Council.” He turns around and stares at me. “Blood was spilled today, and I initiated the attack. The Septites might have forgiven me for chasing after you, but not for what happened here.”

My jaw hinges open and closed, but before I can string together a response, Mason hisses at us over his shoulder.

“Zip it you two! Let’s not make it any more obvious which direction we’re headed in.”

I take a deep breath, watching Jakob's easy stride as he moves. There’s nothing to go back to our bunker for now anyway, but he doesn’t know that. I keep telling myself that the rest of the Undergrounders, Jakob’s parents included, are still part of our reality. The likelihood is they’re all dead.

Mason slows to a halt, and Jakob motions at me to stop.

“Are we at the docking station?” I ask, relieved to see Owen's eyes flutter open at the sound of my voice.

Mason gives a tight nod and lays Owen down in an alcove. “With any luck, there’s no one down there. The tunnel access is blocked, so it should be clear, unless someone was in there before the explosion happened.”

“Not likely,” I say. “Lyong said everyone was at the unveiling.”

“Do we have a clear view of the docking station?” one of the Council members calls out.

“Affirmative,” Mason replies. “I’ll assess the situation on the ground.”

He gets down on his belly and creeps, reptile-like, toward the grille. When he reaches the edge, he lies in position for a long time, his head barely moving, before inching backward toward us.

“See anything?” I ask when he’s within earshot of a whisper.