Deviation (8 page)

The darkness is so complete it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I raise my hand in front of my face but the blackness remains undisturbed. I blink. Still nothing.

“Ven?” Linc’s voice is low and gravelly. It echoes around us.

“I’m here,” I say, whispering so the sound of my own voice doesn’t startle me.

Sometimes, all I have is a flashlight and a stick. Morton gave me the stick after that first time I came through. Linc had been on assignment and I’d come alone. I was a shaking mess by the time I’d reached the entrance. It’d taken me two hours to muster the courage to leave. Titus had sent security to look for me. I’d almost blown it despite Linc’s assurances that he’d remotely masked my GPS reading.

Now I have the scrambler. Linc made me promise not to use it unless absolutely necessary. He’s programmed it to redirect instead. “Remember how Williams ran in all crazy-eyed when he thought he lost you? Yeah, scrambling does that. We don’t want to alert the cavalry. Only
divert
them.”

I agreed and let him do the fancy finger swiping—but only if he promised to show me the workings of the device later. For now, I’m just glad we were able to get away. Linc’s already told me this may be the last time for a while. Whatever’s happening with the new security head isn’t good, judging by his tone. There is plenty he’s not saying but, right now, I am more concerned with getting here and getting home safe.

I use my stick like a cane, lightly tapping the floor and wall as I shuffle forward. I don’t like the darkness here. I don’t like darkness anywhere. It feels too unpredictable. Darkness, like memory, is the sort of thing people disappear into and never surface from again.

After my previous trips navigating this tunnel, I should be accustomed to the pressing blackness. The dampness. The slimy walls and squeaky rodents I imagine scampering around at my feet. But it’s still just as terrifying as the first time Obadiah brought me here. I wish there was a better hiding place for them, but, so far, I haven’t found one.

I fumble for Linc’s hand and slip my fingers through his, pulling them tight until we’re hooked securely together. Linc squeezes once, and I am reassured enough to press on. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” I say.

“Let’s go.”

We move slowly, dragging our feet to detect any change in the floor. My shoes, black ankle boots that lace up the side, scuff louder than Linc’s. I scowl at the sound—and that my wardrobe is not exactly ideal for a covert outing.

Two right turns and a low overhang of metal piping later, Linc stops. There is the slightest bit of shadowed light filtering from the path that veers left before abruptly disappearing. It’s enough to create a silhouette of Linc’s features. He hovers in front of me, his body language protective even in the absence of danger.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask, breathless from anxiety and Linc’s proximity. Now that I can see him, my senses are on alert and I am aware of how close—and how alone—we are down here in the depths of the warehouse district.

In answer, Linc leans forward and cups my cheeks with his hands. His mouth hovers less than a breath away and he whispers, “I just wanted a minute alone with you.” His lips brush the edges of my mouth. “Is that all right?”

I nod and wait, mouth open and eyes closed, for our lips to connect. When they do, it sends a ripple of pleasure through me. A small noise escapes me and Linc deepens the kiss. I am lost in a sea of passion and disbelief that these feelings are mine to experience. Linc’s tongue slips out to trace the inside of my lip and my knees weaken. I wrap my arms around his shoulders for support and lean into him. I could kiss him forever and the miracle of it would still never grow old.

His mouth leaves mine to trail kisses across my cheek. “Linc …” I whisper. His hands drift lower, cupping my hips. His mouth dips to my neck and finds its way to the space just below my ear. I shiver.

“God, I love the way you feel in my arms,” he murmurs.

I offer silent agreement in the form of more kisses.

A noise from the hallway startles us. Footsteps echo and, a second later, a beam of light bounces into view, lighting up the passageway. I freeze and my breath hitches. Linc turns to face the approaching light while staying pressed against me. I strain to see around him to identify the newcomer. His bright purple scarf around his neck and the piercing eyes stand out against the shadows his flashlight beam creates.

“Obadiah,” I say, my relief audible.

His brows furrow as he takes in the sight of us. I realize my blouse is crooked. I straighten it hastily, my relief turning to embarrassment. Obadiah shakes his head. “You two need to get a room. And not,” he adds when Linc opens his mouth, “a basement passageway.” Linc closes his mouth again.

I smile and slip out from behind Linc to hug Obadiah. “Did you have any trouble?” I ask. “I thought you were already inside.”

“Parking was kind of a bitch,” he said. “I had to find some place the employees wouldn’t spot my car and somebody parked their motorcycle horizontally in the only alley with a double exit.” He shoots Linc a crooked glance.

“Sorry.” Linc shrugs. “Faster getaway.”

“Exactly,” Obadiah says pointedly.

“Are we going in now or what?” Linc asks.

Obadiah grins. “Are you two done making out among the rats?”

“Rats?” I repeat, my eyed widening. “Did you see one?” I glance around at our feet but, aside from the damp concrete and thick layer of grime, I don’t see anything.

“Don’t listen to him, Ven,” Linc says, taking my hand. “There aren’t any rats here or we would’ve seen them by now.”

Obadiah snorts. “I’ve heard enough from my father’s employees that work above us to know you’re wrong. What do you think keeps them from ever coming down to these tunnels?”

I squeeze Linc’s hand a little tighter. Rats are disgusting. I know because we had one in the shower room in Twig City once. It bit a girl and she almost died from some infection the animal carried. The thought of something small and furry and deadly running across my foot puts me on edge.

“There are no rats,” Linc repeats. Then to Obadiah, “Give me your flashlight.”

Obadiah hands it over. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your own. Aren’t you supposed to always be prepared? Like a boy scout?”

“What’s a boy scout?” I ask. No one answers me.

Linc clicks the button and the beam of light disappears. He hands it back. “You told us not to draw attention. That the floor vents sometimes run along the wall down here, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Obadiah shrugs and tucks the flashlight in the waistband of his pants. “I forgot.”

Linc shakes his head before leading the way down the passage that veers left. “Come on,” he says, pulling me gently forward with our joined hands.

We shuffle along in the darkness, single file, our feet sliding to find our way. I reach back and find Obadiah’s hand with my free one. He clings to it as we walk. When the passageway curves, I tug on Obadiah’s hand so he won’t run into the wall.

Finally, we reach the door at the end. It’s covered in grime and there is no knob but I know it is a door because I’ve walked through it six times before today. Only six because, in order to come, my GPS must be redirected and with Titus constantly watching, that’s nearly impossible.

I need something better than the scrambler. I have no idea what.

Obadiah comes every few days. He updates me via text mostly, in a coded language we’ve developed. I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s the reason we found this place and the reason no one else has.

Linc fumbles and then finds what he’s looking for. He pushes on a spot on the left edge of the door and the metal depresses to reveal a latch. He turns it to the right and the door swings open. It’s almost completely silent on its aged hinges thanks to the oil Morton regularly applies.

We step through and Obadiah secures the door behind us. Light filters from up ahead. Even though it is dim, I blink at the suddenness of it after all that blackness. My eyes adjust and we move toward it instead of taking the side passage to our right. That way leads to more tunnels, connecting this block of warehouses through an underground maze of passages, according to Obadiah. His family has owned this entire block and the next for generations. He suspects they used them to run drugs and girls years ago but now they are forgotten. We hope.

I was appalled when he’d explained what “running girls” meant. But I am glad for the tunnels.

At the end of the hall, we turn left and stop short when Anna steps out of the first doorway. She smiles when she sees us. “You’re here,” she says, clapping her hands. “I was beginning to wonder.”

I catch sight of the hole in Anna’s arm where her GPS used to be. It is red at the edges but it looks much better than it did a month ago. The infection has healed and the wound has closed. It is already scarring but no one cares about that. Not if it means she is free of her device.

Free of the Creator.

Staring at Anna’s arm, I am so aware of the implant in my own, I can almost feel it pulsing. What would it be like to remove it? To be free? The idea of that makes me breathless. To go anywhere I want without being monitored. To do anything I want without having to answer for it feels like such an impossibility. I squeeze Linc’s hand tighter to drown out the longing that tugs at my heart.

He squeezes back as if he knows where my thoughts have gone.

“Did you guys get the shipment I sent?” Obadiah asks.

He stays behind me as he talks. Anna still makes him nervous. Understandable since she was the accomplice to an attack that left him unconscious and bleeding from the head two months ago. Anna doesn’t seem to notice Obadiah’s hesitation with her. Or if she does, she ignores it.

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes light up as she looks back at Obadiah. “Fresh bread! It was more than we’ve had here in months. Thank you!”

Obadiah smiles a little. “You’re welcome. I don’t know when I can do that again, so enjoy.”

I turn to Obadiah. “How did you get fresh bread?”

“I have my ways,” he says with a hint of a grin.

“Please tell me you didn’t send a delivery driver here,” Linc says.

“I’m not completely incompetent,” Obadiah says, his voice rising in defense. At Linc’s wry look, he adds, “I had a delivery boy leave it at the loading docks of another warehouse. Anna and the others picked it up there and brought it back here during the night.”

Linc frowns but lets it go.

“Thank you,” I tell Obadiah, letting my tone convey my gratitude. I love him so much more for his compassion for the Imitations here. He takes care of them in ways I cannot. Not while I am under Titus’s scrutiny daily.

“Of course. I’m just glad you shared your secret with me,” Obadiah says.

I nod because, while it terrified me at first, I am glad now too. I’d dreaded it, not because I didn’t trust him, but because I knew the danger it would put him in. And he’d had enough close calls because of me already. “Stop worrying,” he says, his smile dimming as he takes in my expression.

“How do you know I’m worrying?”

“Because you’re always worrying,” he says. “And because I can tell by your expression. You really need to work on that, you know.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“I’m not going to let them get caught,” he adds.

“I’m worried about
you
getting caught,” I say.

“Well, stop. You have more to lose than any of us.”

My brows shoot up. “You don’t think Titus will kill you if he found out you were involved?”

“Of course I do, but then he would just make an Imitation to take my place and you’d get them to help with all of this.” He waves a hand at our concrete surroundings. “Either way, the Imitations here are taken care of.”