Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter 34

RETTER

Ret squatted low and filled his lungs before his legs exploded into action launching him skyward to grip the landing overhead. The thick calluses on his palms had begun to shred under the intensity of the climb and the hard, dusty metal burned like salt in the fresh wounds. With trembling arm and back muscles, he wrenched his body upward. White-hot pain exploded along his neck and shoulders as his muscles battled gravity.

He lifted his chin and his eyes locked on the lumpy silhouette of the conglomeration of kids waiting for him on the platform. On a mighty roar and a swing of his legs, his body lifted the few final inches until his chest cleared the floor. He flopped facedown onto the cold surface, panting from the effort.

When the swirling in his head lessened, Ret wriggled the rest of his body onto the landing and sat upright. His could feel his left eye, which had accidentally gotten in the way of Josiah’s—or maybe Adam’s—boot, beginning to swell. The puffiness in his cheek and surrounding the socket obscured his vision as he looked down at his hands through the narrowed chasm in his face. The ripped calluses that had torn away from the flesh of his hands created dangling flaps. They hung on by a thread of skin and fresh blood trickled along his palms. He pressed a finger onto the folds in an attempt to reset the limp flesh before realizing it to be a lost cause. He peeled the remaining skin from his hand and suffered momentary blindness as the pain tore through his senses. Once the shock subsided, he yanked a piece of canvas that had already begun to tear from his shirt and wrapped it around his hand.

When the faces of the kids came back into focus he saw five expressions of horror. He tried to imagine the sight he’d become, grunting and growling his way up the platforms, bloodied and bruised from his scrapes and abrasions. He tried to smile at the group but realized, too late, that amidst his swollen face, it probably resembled more of a hideous sneer.

Erin sucked in her breath and reached out to touch Ret’s tattered face. “Did we do this to you?”

“It’s okay, Erin. I’ll be fine,” Ret croaked. “Not only that, but we’re already halfway there.” He patted his shoulders. “Hop on.”

Chapter 35

FRAN

Pete’s chin rested on her head and the warmth of his breath sent goose bumps down her neck. From his deep, rhythmic breathing, she figured Pete to be asleep and luxuriated in his quiet nearness. The essence of cheesy cologne still clung to his T-shirt and Fran inhaled his earthy essence—a smell she could only describe as 100% Pete.

She entertained the possibility that they both might get out of this place and wondered how life might look outside with Pete along. Would he grow ginormous muscles like Ret? She allowed her brain to play make-believe for another minute and pictured them by the river, skipping stones on the water while slurping back mouthfuls of plump berries. She thought about how after piercing the flesh, the sweet juice of the fruit would explode onto her tongue. She imagined liquid trickling down her throat. However, when she swallowed in real time, a thick paste of dust and saliva raked along her throat. Thirst was a painful thing.

She touched the side where the water satchel had hung with no idea where it had ended up. She wondered just how much Impervious water she would have to consume before she showed up back on the grid. Had those few gulps
really
done any damage? Could she sip a little bit more and still be safe? With eyes shut tight, she tried to muster up some saliva from the folds of her cheeks to lubricate her throat, but instead pasty phlegm sat like drying concrete on her palate. She kicked around more thoughts of juicy fruit and the rushing river until her shriveled apricot of a tongue cried for mercy.

Fran untangled herself from Pete and maneuvered around his body. Maybe she should test the waters. Just to see how close she could get before the Graphie came to life. She swished toward the opening, but stayed just outside the reaches of light. Electronic prickliness crawled across her skin and she scratched at the itchy sensation. With her ears tuned in to the sounds outside the tunnel, she listened for the almost imperceptible hum that resonated from live Graphies. No sound emitted and she smiled, hoping that indicated “hibernate” mode. She caterpillared a little closer and listened.

Nothing.

As Fran peeked back over her shoulder, Pete still snored, deep in REM sleep. She crept another few inches. The opening now sat close enough that she could see a random set of legs pass by. She moved the last few feet, pressed her cheek against the mesh in Pete standard style, and rolled her eyes upward to the electronic giant stationed on the other side.

Gentle waves undulated across his form, and from his semi-opaqueness, Fran could see he was, indeed, in sleep mode. She counted five slow breaths while waiting for him to come alive.

Nothing
. Her expression blossomed.
Still off the grid.

With one last check on sleeping Pete, she waved a hand over the beam of light in the corner. The holographic pad emerged, and she swiped the code. Just as the venting hummed, Pete began to stir.

She checked her shoulder just as his eyes shot open. With a finger over her lips, she mimed the word, “shhhhh,” but Pete cartwheeled onto hands and knees and scrambled forward.

The noise. The commotion. Pete’s DNA. It all acted as one cohesive alarm clock for the sleeping giant. Fran’s head whipped back around as the buzzing arose and saw his details begin to pixelate.

She dove through the opening.

“Fran!” The desperation in his voice dug at her insides. 

She wanted to tell him she’d be right back and not to worry, but as the gigantic holograph’s red eyes scanned the crowd, her old panic arose. She dove into the river of people, just like she’d done a thousand times before. As the tide carried her away, she watched Pete’s face, mashed up against the grating, mirroring the same panic that raced through her own gut.

Chapter 36

RETTER

Ret’s legs trembled as he rose from a squat. He’d lifted each kid up five platforms so far. On his periphery, he could see Erin and Adam, already perched on the platform, reaching out to grab for Josiah. They had become one body—a well-oiled machine working together, with Ret acting as the engine driving them forward.
One more floor to go.

Josiah wriggled from Ret’s shoulders, grazing his thick boot along Ret’s already chafed jaw. His bruised flesh screamed under Josiah’s final push, but Ret, relieved to have the package delivered, ducked out of the shoot and moved to Jamie.

“Ready?”

Jamie kept her head down and nodded without looking back at Ret.

Despite the fact that his aching legs screamed in protest, he squatted down to her level. He had to look at her through a single eye as his other one had swollen shut, but with his index finger he lifted Jamie’s chin. As she looked into Ret’s face, Jamie began to cry and threw herself into his arms.

“You’re all tore up,” she wailed.

Ret held her and rubbed her tiny back. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a big guy. I’m going to be just fine, I promise.” He peeled her from his chest. Jamie’s entire chin trembled with emotion.

“As soon as we get out of here,
my
mommy will fix it,” Ret promised.

Her eyes grew wide. “
You
have a mommy?”

Ret swept her into his arms and began to lift her overhead. “Yep. And my mommy can make
everyone
better.”

Jamie giggled and Ret heard Erin shush the younger ones as she helped pull the little scrub onto the platform.

With renewed strength, Ret readied for the last child.
One more to go
. He ducked out to grab Arnold, and as he did, a vibration reverberated around them. Loud and alarming, it drowned out the whispers and giggles as it echoed up the pipe. Someone in the chute seemed to be approaching. Judging by the banging and clanging, they were in a hurry. Ret squatted low and tapped his shoulders, and Arnold scurried up.

As Ret exploded from his squat, white hot pain shot from his buttocks to his knee. With the clattering of metal around them, Arnold moved to the platform in a frenzy. After he’d been freed from Arnold’s weight, Ret tried to squat to get the last push to leap and grab, but his legs buckled beneath him.

The echoes rose in resonance like thunder and one of the kids began to shriek. Ret closed his eyes. Visions of his father’s face filled his mind.

He could do this.

He pushed his back against the mass of metal, placed his hands out to the side, and flattened his palms on the opposing walls. He tucked his stronger leg beneath his body and allowed the injured one to dangle, then drew in a breath and began to stand while inching his hands up the sides of the chute. The disturbance from below thundered and clanged.
One more floor to go.

Chapter 37

FRAN

The sounds. The smells. The pushing and murmuring. It felt like a foggy dream from long ago. And just like the days of old, Fran kept her eyes locked on her suede booties and watched her robe brush against her bare legs.
Were people staring?
Assuming to still be off the grid and safe from security checks, Fran lifted her gaze to look around.

No one stared. Nope. All chins remained tucked tight.
Seriously?
No one notices the oddball here?

Her skin prickled as a Graphie entered the stream. Could be security. Why did her gut tighten?
You’re off the grid, remember?
Then again, it could be nothing more than an advertising Graphie. Oddly, that thought hadn’t dawned on her before leaving the vent—the marketing Graphies, that is. She wondered what would happen if an advertiser employed face-rec as they often did to target their audience. She shrugged. If a marketer identified her, it wouldn’t necessarily put her back on the grid.
Right?

Fran bit her lip and focused again on her moccasins, wishing she would have considered all the angles
before
she’d exited the air vent. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and the scouring raw flesh reminded her of her thirst. She began the sideways crawl that would dump her into the next circle. Like a dance from her childhood—choreographed over the years and performed with a thousand strangers—Fran stepped in time with the music of the murmurs until released from the hold of the crowd. She looked to her left and a water hut stood spewing the Council’s minions into unsuspecting containers a mere few feet away. Fran licked her lips and moved toward the hut.

Two people stood in line before her. A disheveled guy, probably late-twenties, who appeared as if he’d soon take up residence at the Post Prime Adult Care Center, filled a single mug of water. Next in line, a woman who, judging by the scraping sound as thick calluses rubbed against one another, had spent her day in acts of service. She looked tired and massaged her neck and shoulders indicating the achy muscles that dwelt under her white skin.

Fran had to look away.

Her eyes flicked here and there, watching the hustle and bustle with renewed sadness. Everyone rushed about with new treasures, slurping back frothy drinks, talking on com devices and ignoring one another. Fran compared this lifestyle to the new one she’d discovered outside and remembered how the entire earth above—trees, birds, animals, wind, and even shadows—seemed to cohabitate on a single breath with a rhythm of community. A warmth settled around her heart as she envisioned heading back out. The smart side of her brain scolded her for even taking the detour.
Get your drink. Crawl back into the vent. Get out. The end.

And then she saw Ted.

He moved to a charging table and slid his reader onto the surface.

Good
, Fran thought.
I ought to have a solid fifteen seconds to reach him before the charge is complete.
She took a longing look at the water hut, put her thirst on hold, and began to sprint in old Rebel fashion. She noticed that although the booties made her lighter on her feet, they weren’t the best footwear for the Agora’s epoxy-coated floors. She slipped and scampered to move through the crowd, and slid right into the arms of a slow-walking resident before untangling herself on a quick, “Sorry.”

“Ted!”

She yelled over the heads of the crowd, and a few eyes turned her way to snatch a quick look. Ted remained focused on his charging device. A sheen of gel coated his hair and the few unruly curls that refused to lie down looked like fancy embellishments. Fran smirked.

His smooth face, the one she’d always thought to be so handsome, seemed a little pale and drawn now that she’d seen a stronger version of him in their father. She tried to picture what Mom and Dad would say if she brought him out. Her heart quickened.

On a final burst of power, she launched herself forward and then slid the last few feet, careening right into the charging table. She lay on the floor in a crumpled heap. She looked up into his eyes and smiled.

“Hey, Ted.”