Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2) (8 page)

He continued jumping platform to platform until reaching the sixth floor. He knew he’d arrived because the tunnel topography not only flattened but also opened up, giving him a little more headroom, just as Wolf had said. He paused by the mesh covering. Because he’d been given the code for this vent, at this point Ret could easily exit the air system and walk around the city. His curiosity burned as he considered visiting the Agora. Then again, this venting was prime Rebel territory. Mission trumped curiosity.

Ret paused long enough to gulp back a few more swallows of water and reminded himself of the map. From this location, he should be able to pinpoint the longer shaft that connected this West side of the city to the East. He envisioned Chan’s chalk-covered hand and Wolf’s raspy command, “
One sharp right and you’ll be at the bridge.”

Ret retied the water satchel and moved to the right, marking the turn with his already dwindling supply of sludge. He traversed several hundred yards in the straight shaft. Claustrophobia and doubt peppered his thoughts. Was it really supposed to go on this long? Was he supposed to have turned left? He picked up his pace through the cramped tunnel, hoping to see light filter through a vent at some point soon. The shrinking supply of sludge illuminated a small space before him, and his imagination warred with the intense sensation of being trapped in the belly of the earth.

The small of his back ached from this extended crawl. He needed to stand and unfold his cramped body. Anxiety rose again. He looked over his shoulder. Thick, cold darkness stayed hot on his tail, and barbs of fear pierced his flesh, urging him on with even more purpose.

Something flashed in the distance.

Or did it?

In his desperation for a single ray of light, had he imagined it? Could it be a mirage? Either way, he hurried forward keeping his eyes peeled for another opportunity. They burned and watered as he held them wide, not wanting to miss it on a blink.

There!

It happened again. Just a quick wink of light. He crawled faster and soon closed in on the flash. He’d hoped the light to be an indication to the end of this piece of shaft, and maybe even a place where the city’s light entered the darkness from a vent opening. Rather, he found a thin, rectangular gadget of sorts abandoned in the tunnel.

He gazed upon the surface—smooth like a rock that had spent many years in the river bed. He tried to discern anything at all about the device that would help him to better understand its inner working. From the dim radiation of the bioluminescence, he could see the rectangular shape, no bigger than his two palms side by side. He wanted to turn it over and examine the other side. Should he touch it? It appeared to be nothing more than a glossy square.

A moment later, a flash like lightning struck his vision. Instinctively, he placed a hand over the gadget to block the quick burst of light, and as he did, the entire face lit up, throwing light to the far reaches of the tunnel. While spots danced before his eyes, Ret drank in the brilliance. After a long breath, however, the glow dimmed until just a green tinge rose from the object. Ret reached out his hand a second time, and again, the light burst forth as if the device anticipated his need.

His hand hovered mid-air. Should he pick it up? Would it harm him? He deliberated for another moment and moved closer until the warmth from the device infiltrated his skin. He touched it. Smooth like glass and warm like the sun. Since it didn’t seem to have any life threatening repercussions, he decided to bring it along.

Handy.

He held it in front of him like a lantern, and it illuminated several hundred feet of tunnel. Ret continued to move with his newly acquired lantern, leaving the barbs of fear behind in the darkness. Noticing a shadowy lump in the distance, he hurried toward the figure, hoping he’d found a Rebel. But upon arrival, it appeared to be nothing more than a heap of stiff canvas blankets. He lifted the top one and an earthy smell wafted out from below, discouraging him from digging through the rest. With a shake of his head, he began to climb around the pile, but as he lifted a foot to clear the obstruction, his heavy boot hit the soft center and a groan sounded from its depth.

Ret froze and turned just in time to see the pile shift. Soon a head emerged, followed by a barely-human, raspy screech. Bony arms and legs flailed, fighting their way through the tangle of blankets. Ret scurried to move out of the way and as he did, the lighted device jumped from his grip and pinged onto the metal floor. He watched as the screen began to dim and in a panic, he shot his arm out and waved a hand in front of the screen. Blinding light burst forth. At the same time, a hard jab into his ribs sent a woof of breath from his lungs. Ret rolled onto his side to face the perpetrator and stared straight into the hollows of a skeletal face.

A feral growl resonated much too close to his ear. With a slow lift of his hands in surrender, Ret inched backwards.

“It’s okay. I’m not here to harm you.”

Another husky grumble, punctuated by labored breathing, echoed through the chamber, and eyes glowered at Ret as they darted around with the look of a trapped animal. Ret knew it would be dangerous to make any sudden move at this point. He remembered what Wolf had told him about the perils of finding food and water in the city. He gauged his tone, and his voice came out in a smooth wave.

“I have water. Would you like some?”

As the face-off continued, the Rebel’s growl began to abate and his panting slowed, morphing into a high-pitched wheeze as the air squeezed into his lungs.

With measured movements, Ret released his water satchel and while illuminated in the light of his newly acquired lantern, held it up for the man to see. After no obvious response, Ret untied the opening, lifted the satchel to his own lips, and drew a mouthful. He swallowed the fresh liquid and held the weighty container at arm’s length.

The man … boy … Rebel …
whatever
licked cracked lips and released his grip on the canvas that he’d been wielding like a shield. As it dropped onto the floor of the venting, Ret could see that a T-shirt hung on his stick-like frame and sharp protuberances jutted out at odd angles. A shaky hand reached for the container. Ret passed it off, and noted the long fingers capped with sharp nails that clutched the thick hide. As the destitute man poured the contents into his mouth, water dribbled from the edges of his lips, falling onto his loose-fitting shirt.

“It’s okay. I have plenty here.” Ret patted the additional satchels still tied to his belt.

The man stopped drinking and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who are you?” He coughed, and his voice had a gravelly quality to it—like Wolf’s.

“I’m Retter. I’ve come here to help.”

Chapter 15

FRAN

Evening hugged Fran in its shadows as she traversed the trail to the river. Had Ret really been gone more than twenty-four hours? Was he really
there
? Underground? Snaking through my old digs? Had he even made it past the fan yet?

She’d spent all day trying to imagine what it might be like for Ret on his first time through, which had made her a jumble of nerves.

She and Chan had sat with him huddled over the maps for two days straight before he left. Even when they took breaks, and Ret would leave to stretch his legs, she’d followed him around the village drilling him with any extra tidbits she could remember.

“Always let a sleeping Rebel lie
,
Ret. We sleep light, but we’re wired tight,”
she’d warned.

“And pound hard on the metal to announce your arrival at the junctions
.
Otherwise, you might end up in some compromising positions.”

She made him repeat everything back to her and even tossed a few pop quizzes at him. Ret was a quick study and hadn’t ever faltered. But had it been enough? What if she’d forgotten something?

She’d waited a few hours after Doc and Chan had returned from escorting Ret, and then stationed herself at the edge of the woods. With eyes glued to the formation of burnished walls, she watched hoping to see a blond head emerge from the rooftop. Instead, as the towers spewed their blue haze into the air, she’d sat tortured with her thoughts, allowing herself to imagine the worst.

Her eyes burned from the watch until Chan snuck up behind her, urging Fran to head back to camp.

“Have you already forgotten how long it takes to get around in the city? He’ll be gone overnight, Wolf. Go get something to eat and take a swim or something. I’ll watch for a while.”

Fran shared a community meal and helped with the evening chores, before sneaking off to the familiar trail which led to her new, favorite spot. The glowing goo Chan and Doc had gathered for Ret had piqued her curiosity, but she also just liked the way the river sparkled at night. She picked her way along the trail, almost enjoying the essence of evening. The thick, musky air hung like a perfume, yet as she pulled the sweetness into her lungs, her mind wandered. Again.

Could Ret be walking through the Agora right now? She pictured him, tall and commanding, and knew every femme he passed would hike her hemline a little.
Not that she cared
. Those trendy femmes on the prowl in the Agora were just so pathetic.

And Pete.

Fran looked up at the sky as it turned from pastels to an inky blue. An evening star winked from far away. She thought of Pete’s mouth curling into a smile and the way he would wink at her when calling her Wolf. When other Rebels called her Wolf she felt cool and ferocious. However, when Pete used her nickname, it felt different. As if he understood her untamed need to run free. Even so, he’d shown more than once that he wouldn’t let her go.

What happened to you, Pete?

She knew that he’d been escorted backstage before the
big
fight broke out between Zombies and Rebels, and before Queen Xyphon had made her official entrance. She’d spied the corners of the stage before she’d made her final jump into the fray, but he hadn’t been there. Had they finished him off with Forfeiture poison? An image of Pete falling to the floor in a spasm of death, like Sasha had done at the last procession, gripped Fran with icy fingers. Goosebumps rose on her arms. She couldn’t go there. She had to believe he lived.

And she had to trust Ret to bring him back.

The trees gave way to the muddy shoreline, and Fran’s gaze drew to the heavens as more stars appeared and stood in awe of the light show. She lifted a finger toward the sky and drew invisible lines from one star to another, like when she’d connected the dots in puzzles in her early days at school. And just like those school days, she imagined what type of picture might present itself if she could connect them all. Maybe the face of a wolf. She chuckled as she pictured it, and then sighed and dropped her hand to her side.

The singing of a mosquito near her ear caused her to slap at her own head reminding Fran that she’d forgotten to apply the lemongrass concoction. Mom’s warnings danced through her brain.

“Use the lemongrass before you go. The river is swarming with biting insects. You’ll thank me later.”

It must be feeding time for these pesky bugs, and Fran was beginning to feel like their main course.

She hurried along the bank scouting out the glowing sludge. It sounded too far-fetched to believe, but then again.
Flying fish
. This outdoor world seemed filled with some pretty strange stuff.

While waving a hand to fend off the nasty biters, she trudged along the banks seeing nothing but black mud. As goose bumps peppered her arms, she hopped on one foot and rubbed a new bite with the tip of her bootie. She slapped at another on her shoulder, and felt a chill at the slight breeze.
It’s cold tonight
.

An image of soft blankets piled high onto her cot flashed through Fran’s brain. Mom had probably already arranged her comfy sleeping spot for the night. Maybe she should head back to camp.

Sludge was going to have to wait. Fran hurried up the embankment and picked through the knee-high foliage until she found the trail. She cursed the mosquitos for ruining her excursion, then began a slow jog back to the camp. What was the purpose of mosquitoes anyway? Earlier today, to take her mind off of things for a few minutes, she’d started reading the book Retter had given her. According to the first few chapters, everything in this world had been created with purpose. But mosquitos? Their presence remained a big question mark in her mind.

A full-on, racking cough stopped Fran in her tracks. She doubled over, lungs and throat burning, unable to control the spasm. Appearing suddenly like a Graphie, the outburst took her by surprise and her vision blurred as she coughed so deep, she thought she was going to heave. Finally, the fit subsided. She wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. Her legs felt tired and Fran slunked back to camp, envisioning climbing into her cot and closing her eyes.

Chapter 16

RETTER

“Got any food?”  A barking cough followed the Rebel’s request.

Ret set the light gadget to his side and removed his pack. He fished around for the dried fruit and then slowly, as if feeding a wild animal, held out a handful. The Rebel snatched the offering, raking dirty nails over Ret’s skin. He shoved his fist into his mouth, and as he chewed, remnants spilled out and bounced off the floor of the vent. Ret offered another drink from his satchel and this time, the spindly arm reached out and seized the flask without hesitation. After having his fill, the Rebel leaned back against the metal wall. A lengthy belch rolled up from his stomach and thundered out of his mouth.

“Thanks, man.” He blew out a long sigh, pat his belly, and another belch rumbled to the surface. “What did you say your name is?”

“They call me Retter.”

“Well thanks for the chow, Retter.”

He offered his fist to Ret. “Pete.”

Ret gripped his arm just below the crease by his elbow and Pete flinched away with a look of alarm. Ret lowered his chin. “Good to know you, Pete.”

As the gadget lay idle, darkness began to infiltrate their space. Ret grazed his fingers over the glossy surface and they were bathed in new light. Pete acknowledge him with a nod and then scrutinized Ret’s appearance. “West Winger?” He lifted a single brow, adding a visual question mark to the end of his sentence.

“No, I’m not from the West side. I—“ Ret looked down at his attire and brushed away the accumulating soot from his arms and chest.
Is this how they dressed on the West side?

“Are you sure?” Pete’s intonation went up on the last word causing his voice to crack as he interrupted.  “I think I’d remember
that
face if I saw it around the East side.”

Retter shook his head. “I’m not from either side, Pete.”

Pete’s brow lifted a little higher. “Say that again?”

“I’m from the
out
side.” Ret thought for a moment, trying to remember how Wolf had once referred to his home. “Open air. I’m from the open air.”

“Shut up.” Pete’s words drew out on a hiss. His mouth hung open and his eyes reflected the fading light like glass stones at the bottom of the river. He continued his shocked whisper.

“It’s real?”

“Yes. It’s real.”  The light gadget began to fade. Ret tapped it on his side. “We need to round up the Rebels, Pete. Where are they hiding?”

Pete’s brows took a dive. “Who
are
you?” His eyes darted from side to side as he slowly inched back.

“I’m Retter. From the open air.” Remembering Chan’s note, Ret set down the light and shuffled around his pack. As the glow receded, the Rebel flipped over onto all fours and scampered outside of the reaches of light.

“Pete. Wait. I can help you.” Ret’s voice echoed down the empty chamber punctuated by a loud gonging as Pete scurried off. Ret slapped at the sidewall and felt the vibrations undulate along the metal, creating a loud ringing in his ears.
His first encounter with a Rebel and he’d blown it. His hand touched the parchment Chan had given him.

“Pete,” he yelled into the darkness. “I have a message from your old leader, Chan.” Ret held his breath.

The sounds through the tunnel hushed.

“Yes, Pete. He’s alive and waiting for you to join him in the open air.”

A silence hung heavy in the darkness. Did he linger outside of the light? Listening? Contemplating? A draft moved through the vent and along with it, the metal creaked and moaned.

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick?” Pete’s strained voice bounced off the flimsy walls as it traveled to Ret’s ears.

“I have no reason to trick you, Pete. I’m here to lead you out.”

Ret waited, counting off the passing seconds remembering what Wolf had told him when they’d first outlined the plan.
“The Council played us like fools, Ret. If anyone made it out of the arena alive, they’re likely to be pretty jumpy.”

Ret thought back to the injured raccoon he’d found by the river years ago. The one he wanted to bring back to camp to nurse its wounds. As soon as he had extended his hand out towards the animal, however, it had bared its teeth, and on an angry growl, warned Ret to stay away. Would this injured Rebel jump out of the darkness and attempt to tear at his flesh like the angry raccoon?
The Council had done a good job implanting fear
.

“Me, Chan, and even Wolf—we’re all working together, Pete.” 

Something moved. He couldn’t hear the shift, rather he felt a low vibration through

the metal. Something had sparked interest.
Wolf? It wasn’t a stretch to think she’d turned a Rebel head during her time down here.

After another hum off the metal, Pete’s face appeared back into the light-filled space. Ret flinched, startled by his sudden appearance.

“What did you do with her?” The words hissed through bared teeth, and a flash bolted from his eyes like those of the injured raccoon.

A new line of sweat emerged over Ret’s brow. His gut tightened at the thought of going toe-to-toe in a cramped tube with a feral Rebel.

He kept his voice low and measured. “She made it out, Pete. She’s alive. She’s outside.”

“Alive?” Pete’s voice cracked.

Ret watched the Rebel’s brow slowly lift, followed by a grin. A ghastly grin in a skeletal face, but still an improvement.
Definitely something there.
“Come with me. You can be a big help getting the others out.”

“Wolf’s alive!” Pete’s laughter bounced off the metal walls followed by a wheezy breath that gurgled in an unhealthy manner. Pete’s narrow shoulders shook as his body dug deep to rid itself of excess phlegm.

“You alright?” Ret offered up the water satchel, and Pete gave a thumbs-up while he continued hacking. He pounded on his chest and then spat a wad of mucus behind him before grabbing the satchel. He sucked down a few swallows, gasping between each mouthful like a drowning victim. Ret thought of Wolf on the river bank …

“She wasn’t hurt during the escape then?” Pete put a hand to his chest, and a loud wheeze rattled through his windpipe. “How did she do it? How did she get out?”

“I’ll show you. That’s why I’m here.”

Pete eyeballed Ret for an extra heartbeat and then shrugged his bony shoulders. “Alright then.” He gathered up the pile of canvas blankets. “I say we take this show on the road.”

Ret nodded in agreement. “So, where can we find the others?”

Pete shoved the wad under his arm. “After the fiasco in the Agora, we all split up … every man for himself, you might say. I know for a fact Folsom didn’t make it out. As far as the others? Your guess is as good as mine. Yours is the first face I’ve seen around here in a long time.”

He looked past Ret as if spying the depths of the tunnel. “I hear things sometimes that make me wonder. You know, the clanging of movement, the hum of a vent, but when I tune my ears in, I get nothing. Probably just my mind playing tricks on me.”

“Can you get me to the Agora?”

Pete laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Security’s pretty heavy these days. Graphies at every exit. The Council’s been trying to starve us out. And it’s been working …”

“Pete,” Ret asked, “do you believe in miracles?”