Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (9 page)

I’m close to passing out from hunger when we finally break stride and crash by a shaded stream garbling its way down to the river. I watch out of the corner of my eye as the Rogues toss Owen down beneath a tree. They glug heartily from their canteens, but don’t offer him anything.

“Here.” Blade tosses me some jerky. “That’s it ’til we get to camp.”

“How much farther?” I ask, tearing off a hunk of dried rabbit.

Blade chews on one side of his mouth and looks past me as if he’s concentrating on something. After a minute, he grimaces and presses the palm of his hand into his cheek.

“Toothache?” I raise my brows.

He lets loose a string of profanities and nurses the side of his face, rocking back and forth.

“Is there a doctor in your camp?”

Blade pokes tentatively at his cheek. “Doc got done in.”

There’s an edge to his tone, almost as if he’s daring me to ask what happened. I’m not sure I want to know, but it’s another opportunity to learn something.

“Sweepers get him?” I ask, opting for our common enemy.

Blade slides a discreet glance in Rummy’s direction. “Doc got killed in the center, ’long with the guards.”

My eyes flick over the tattoos writhing up the sides of Blade’s neck.
Gang tattoos
. A hot flush creeps over me. The reeducation center was due south of Shoshane City. Only three miles from our house. Blade might know if the south side of the city is still intact. I avert my eyes for a minute, digesting the idea. I don’t really believe Ma’s alive, but it’s hard not to harbor a kernel of hope.

My pulse quickens. I wonder how far I can press him for more information before he clams up again. “So you were in the maximum security reeducation center?”

“Eleven years.”

“How’d you get out?”

Blade leans back on the grass and stretches out his legs. “It was every dawg for himself when the power went down. If you weren’t part of a gang, you didn’t get far.” His eyes flash as if he’s recollecting the carnage. “Reds went down first though. That were only right.”

“Reds?”

“Reeducation guards. Everyone wanted their weapons.”

I gesture at his M16. “Reeducation guards don’t carry weapons like that, do they?”

Blade leers at me. “Smart little sucker, ain’t you? We found these ladies at a deserted air force base. Free for the taking now we don't got no military.”

I avert my eyes, wondering what else they might have taken from the base. Fuel? Vehicles? We could use it all to take down the Sweepers.

I look up at the sound of footsteps. Rummy strides over, eying Blade with an air of mistrust. “Time to move out.”

Blade scowls and stands. I sense a loaded animosity between them. If I’m careful not to push too fast too soon, Blade will talk again. If only to defy Rummy.

We gather up our packs, and the two Rogues who were carrying Owen walk back over to the stretcher and hoist it up between them.

“Leave the meathead.” Rummy gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “He ain’t come round by now, he ain’t coming round.”

“Wait!” I yell, before I can stop myself. I stumble forward, Owen's pack half-slipping from my shoulders. “He was conscious last night.”

Rummy lets out a snort. “What do you care?”

I shrug, scrambling to cover my slip-up. “Just saying, he talked, so he’s not dead.”

“Ain’t that somethin’?” Rummy twitches his lips in a fleeting smile and then snaps his fingers. “Let’s go, homies.”

I grab his sleeve, and then gasp when he spins around in a lightning move and slams his fist into my stomach.

“Don’t
ever
touch me!”

I try to say something, but I’m too busy fighting for breath.

“Move it! Or I’ll tie you to that piece of road kill over there and you can join the maggot fest.”

I back away from Rummy, jagged waves of pain radiating through me. Blade grabs my elbow and shoves me forward. These Rogues are sick and twisted. For all I know, being captured by them may turn out to be a worse fate than extraction.

I throw one last glance over my shoulder at Owen, a bundle of rags in the moss, oblivious to the flies already landing on him. My stomach twists. It’s killing me to leave him, but if I let Rummy know that, he’ll finish him off anyway. I have to believe Big Ed’s alive and following us, for Owen's sake. He’s our only hope.

Eyes to the ground, I plod forward in a trance, tormented by thoughts of Owen being eaten alive by whatever descends on him first. When I lift my head again, the rest of the Rogues are already out of view. And somewhere along the line, Blade quit prodding me forward with the tip of his rifle. Big of him, but out of character.

I glance behind, and then pull up mid-stride in disbelief. Blade is nowhere in sight. I quickly scan the brush on both sides of me to see if he’s stepped off the trail to relieve himself. I glance up ahead to make sure there’s no one watching, and then silently slip into the brush. I might have only seconds before one of the other Rogues realizes we’ve fallen behind. I backtrack through the brush as silently as I can, listening for any sound of movement.

A rough hand clamps over my mouth. I stiffen.

“Shhh!” Big Ed’s voice vibrates in my ear.

My muscles turn to mush and I sink down in the undergrowth. He kneels beside me and grips my shoulders. “You okay?”

My jaw shudders with relief. “I thought you were dead!”

“Hard to kill a mountain man.” His leathery cheeks crease into a grin.

“Did you find Owen?”

Big Ed grimaces. “He’s conscious.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Where’s the skinhead who was behind me?”

“I knocked him out. He’ll live.”

I scramble to my feet and adjust my pack. “We’ve got to get out of here. You were right. The Rogues are escaped subversives from the reeducation center, part of a gang.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Figured those were gang tats.” He turns and motions for me to follow him.

When we reach the stream, I spot Blade first, bound and squirming, beneath a tree. I rush past him to Owen's side. His eyes look like they’re fused shut, and he doesn’t respond when I try to wake him. “He’s unconscious. We’re going to have to carry him out.”

“We can use my tent as a makeshift stretcher,” Big Ed says. “I’ll take a quick scout around first and make sure we’re clear.”

I lean over my brother and shake him gently. “Owen! Can you hear me?”

Sweat beads on my forehead as minutes tick by and he doesn’t respond.

I prod him gently, blinking back tears. He’s got to live—I can’t lose anyone else. Finally, he groans and his eyes flutter open.

“Owen, it’s me. It’s going to be all right,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady as I stare down at his mangled face.

He gives me a weak grin with swollen lips that barely stretch.

“Big Ed’s here too,” I reassure him, as footsteps crunch through the pinecones behind me.

“Ugly looking pug—that Big Ed.”

My blood chills at the familiar, steely voice. I turn my neck slowly like I’m roasting on a spit. Rummy hovers over me, black eyes smoldering with rage. Twenty feet away, two Rogues hold a gagged and bound Big Ed between them. He looks older, and smaller somehow, his bulk shrunk like a deflated balloon. I gulp to stem the fear clawing its way up my throat.

“I had a feeling you was playing head games with me,” Rummy says, with a twisted grin, his tone way too casual to be trusted. “Big Dawg Ed. That’s bad. Way bad.”

He rolls another cigarette and takes a drag, watching intently as one of his men unties Blade and pulls the gag from his mouth.

“Who jumped you?” Rummy calls over to him. “Butterface? Or the old geezer?” The other Rogues snicker.

Blade gets to his feet, grunting. He glares at Rummy, then jabs an accusatory finger at Big Ed. “Dirtbag whacked me on the back of the head with his gun.”

“Looks like we got ourselves a gun-toting trio: Butterface, Big Dog, and Road Kill over there.” Rummy turns back to me and flicks the ash from his cigarette onto my boots. “Big Dog Ed’s been tracking us the whole time. Who else you got out there?”

I throw a darting glance over at Big Ed. Knowing him, he’s stayed tightlipped.

“No one. I met Big Ed on the trail, couple of days ago.” I gesture at Owen. “I don’t know who he is.”

Rummy lets out a snort of disgust. “Throw the meathead back on the stretcher,” he says to the other Rogues. “We’ll take them all to Diesel. If they’re snitches, he’ll get it outta them.”

The sun is hung high above the distant granite peaks by the time we reach the outskirts of Lewis Falls. Big Ed was right about where the Rogues set up base. It’s the perfect hideout, a remote river rafting outpost edged up against the Wilderness of No Return, sandwiched between the Salmon River and the towering Sawtooth Mountains.

We march silently into town, single file. I glance around at the forlorn scattering of small, wooden cabins winding downhill, spaced a few feet apart. The place looks deserted, not even a scrawny cat or dog loping down the dirt streets. Just enough wind to stir up a little dirt and shake a board here and there. My heart pounds like a sledgehammer at the thought of meeting the notorious Diesel.

Rummy holds up his hand to halt the group. “Where’s the lookout?”

My eyes dart over the rooftops, but I can’t spot anyone wedged in position, watching our approach.

“Hammered, I’ll bet.” Blade sneers.

Rummy grunts and motions us forward with his gun.

“Diesel?” Rummy yells when we’re thirty feet from the first cabin. “Where you at?”

A stocky man with jowls like a bulldog sticks his head out the door of a boarded-up cabin on our left. He glances up and down the street, and then waves us over impatiently.

Rummy quickens his pace, his face strained. Something’s amiss in Lewis Falls. Whatever it is, I only hope it works in our favor.

Inside the dark cabin, eight young skinheads cluster around on benches. They stare at us with hard, jagged eyes hooded by lightning bolts and double-edged daggers.

Diesel watches us intently as we crowd onto the remaining bench, his thick, muscular forearms crossed in front of him like crowbars—thickly sleeved in tattoos. Even Big Ed has his sprawling beard to cover up with. I feel naked in comparison. I can already feel the skinheads’ eyes crawling all over me.

My heart quakes. There’s only one person I can imagine taking these Rogues on, and he’s dead. Drowned, or smashed on the rocks. A horrible death I egged him into for no good reason. I’d give anything to take back what I said and have Mason here with me right now.

Rummy, Blade, and the other Rogues place their weapons by the door. I get the feeling Diesel doesn’t trust his own people. His nostrils twitch constantly, as if he’s sniffing out the scent of betrayal. He looks about thirty, a good bit older than the rest of them. He flicks his eyes over me and then studies Big Ed for a moment longer. “Where’d you find ‘em?” he asks Rummy.

“Spying on us, upriver.” Rummy frowns at Diesel. “Where’s Ulrich?”

Diesel spins a chair around and slams a boot down on the seat. Black, cowhide, standard eight-inch height. Military. Probably from the base they raided.

Diesel cracks his knuckles and pans the room. “Some thug broke into our weapons stash last night. Busted nine of our M16’s outta there, took a buncha ammo. Ulrich was on lookout. He’s gone. One of these goons here must know something. I’m gonna busta cap in the lot of them if someone don’t come clean.”

Rummy narrows his eyes. He strides over to me and grabs me by the throat. “You sure there’s no one else with you?”

I shake my head, flinching when I feel his hot, foul breath steam my face.

He shoves me backward and then turns to Diesel. “Says her camp was raided by Sweepers.”

Diesel swipes his thumb across the tip of his nose and stares at me. “Lotta raiding goin’ on all of a sudden. How do I know you weren’t in on lifting my stash?”

I make a show of rubbing my bound wrists. If Diesel has bigger issues than me to deal with right now, maybe I can use it to my advantage. “Untie me and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Diesel jerks his chin in Blade’s direction. Blade pulls out his knife and slices the ties on my wrist.

I flex my arms. “First we need food, water, and a medic.”

Diesel lets out a snort. “You trading now? Got something worth smoking?” Or maybe you’re offering something a little more … personal. The skinheads glance at Diesel, hike their lips up, like they’re afraid to laugh, afraid not to.

“How about a Sweeper ship?” I say.

No one speaks, but I catch a flash of curiosity in Diesel’s eye. He moves his jaw slowly side to side.

“Where is this shhhhip?” He drags the word out until it sounds like a threat.

I steady my voice and tell him what I told Rummy about finding the Hovermedes. And then I add to the lie. “It still runs. Just needs a few minor repairs. We’re going to use it to attack the Sweepers’ base.”

Diesel and Rummy exchange dubious looks. I hope I haven’t stretched it too far, but it’s going to take a doggone good reason for Diesel to keep us alive.

I gesture over at Owen lying in the corner where the Rogues unloaded him. “He’s a mechanic. He can get the Hovermedes running.”

Blade narrows his eyes at me. “Thought you said you didn’t know him.”

I throw him a scathing look. “Like I told you,
bozo
, he talked in the tent last night.”

The veins in Blade’s neck bulge, but I detect a faint smile on Diesel’s lips. He rubs the piercing above his eye in a leisurely fashion, as if he’s weighing my usefulness. “Sweeper raids still don’t explain my missing weapons. Them dawgs got all they need.” He takes a step toward me. “But Undergrounders need weapons.”

I shake my head in a show of disbelief. “Do we look like we’re capable of raiding anything?” I peer up at him through a few matted strands of hair.

Diesel's face creases into mottled folds. “I gotta boatload of missing ammo and weapons right about the time you show up. That don’t add up in my book.” He walks over to Big Ed and yanks the gag from his mouth. “Your turn to talk, old man.”

Big Ed brushes the back of his bound hands over his mouth and adjusts his glasses.