Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (15 page)

I step down off the crate, feeling lighter inside. I’ve eliminated over half of the Undergrounders, but those who are left are skilled shooters.

“Now what?” Trout asks.

I arch a brow at him. “I think it’s time Rummy got some fresh air.”

“It’s a risky move, sending him out there,” Jerome says. “He might not come back, not even for Blade.”

I run my fingers down the length of my braid wishing I had the luxury of a hot shower to look forward to. “I’d rather know that now than waste two days hiking into the wilderness to find out where his loyalties lie.”

“So what’s your plan?” Trout asks.

I give him a sly look. “I thought we’d do it Wild West style. Tie his hands behind his back and send him out there with a note on his chest.”

I
give
a curt nod in passing to the guard outside the courthouse and tread up the steps behind Trout and Jerome into the courthouse foyer. The heavy presence of armed Undergrounders stationed around the city is an ominous reminder of the mounting threat, and how fragile the existence Jerome has built here really is.

“I’ll look around for something to write the note on,” Jerome says, when we reach his office. “I’ll meet you at the holding cell.”

I turn and exit the room, just as Blackbeard topples into the hallway, smearing the wall crimson as he slides to the floor.

M
y breath sticks
in my throat. Silently, I slip my gun from my shoulder. Behind me I hear the subtle click of Trout’s weapon. Jerome steps out of his office, clutching a piece of cardboard. I signal to him to take cover, and then aim my gun at the doorway leading into the holding cell.

Jerome throws a perplexed look down the hallway, then stiffens when he sees Blackbeard slumped on the floor in the hall, his blood daubed on the wall behind him. “No!” Jerome yells, breaking into a run toward him.

My heart jams in my throat. Trout and I lock eyes for a second, and then race down the corridor after him, covering him as best we can as he dashes past a line of open offices. If Blade and Rummy are on the loose, they can’t have got far. But they’re almost certainly armed now.

“He’s still breathing!” Jerome yells, dropping to his knees at Blackbeard’s side.

Blackbeard raises his head a few centimeters and Jerome cradles him in his arms. That’s when I see the scissors sticking out of Blackbeard’s neck. He opens his lips, but when he tries to speak he sounds like he’s gargling gravel.

“Don’t talk,” Jerome urges him, his own voice hoarse with emotion. He looks up at us, a hard cord pulsing in his temple. “Tell the guard outside the courthouse to activate lockdown. And get a doctor over here right away.”

“I’ll go,” Trout says, before turning to me. “You got them covered?”

I nod, and watch him disappear at the end of the hallway, my heart pumping furiously.

Blackbeard stretches out his hand and grasps onto Jerome. Something rattles in his throat, but the few words he spits out are unintelligible.

“Lay still,” Jerome says, leaning down close to his face. “You’re gonna be all right.”

“I’ll look around the holding cell,” I say, averting my eyes from Blackbeard’s neck.

The plastic ties Sven bound the Rogues’ wrists with are lying on the floor at the back of the cell. I pick them up and examine them. Clean cuts. The padlock dangles from the metal door, the key still in it. I frown, trying to piece together what went down. Rummy must have stolen the scissors from Jerome’s desk when all the commotion went down earlier. Blade probably grabbed an unsuspecting Blackbeard the first time he got too close to the bars, while Rummy plunged the scissors into his neck and yanked the keys off him.

I walk back out into the hallway. Jerome looks up at me expectantly, and I show him what’s left of the plastic ties. “Looks like they used the scissors to cut these before they stabbed Blackbeard. I’m guessing one of them held him through the bars while the other one stabbed him.”

“His gun’s gone,” Jerome says, his eye fixed on Blackbeard’s ashen face. “Rummy and Blade will wreak havoc out there.”

“They might still be hiding inside the building.”

Jerome lifts his face so his eye is locked on mine. “You’re responsible for bringing these animals into the city. Find them, before they turn it into a slaughterhouse.”

My spine tingles at the icy tone in his voice; the same unnerving tone he used when he accused Trout and me of being snitches when the riders first brought us in. If Blade or Rummy hurt even one more person, the only mission this city will be going on will be to assassinate me.

“I’ll find them,” I say, casting one last glance down at Blackbeard. “I think I know how to lure them out.”

I take a fluttery breath.

I’ll be the bait
.

Blade won’t go far, not until he’s at least taken a shot at me. The level of hatred he has for me will never be satisfied by simply escaping the city. Slowly, I move down the hallway to the first office, trying to focus on everything Mason ever taught me about situational awareness. Dripping with sweat, I nudge the inward-swinging door with my foot and step back. The door creaks open six inches, then starts to swing back on itself. I block it with my boot, and take a quick, steadying breath. I sweep the room, rotating in place, then edge inside and check behind the door.

Blood pounding, I venture back out into the hallway and continue on to the next door. I line up my field of fire, plant my feet and pan the room. That’s when I see there’s an adjoining door inside to another office, or possibly a closet or storage room. The hairs on my neck prickle. I need to clear that space before I go any farther down the hallway. If Blade and Rummy are holed up in there, Jerome would essentially be trapped in a tunnel with no way to defend himself, or Blackbeard.

Bit by bit, I work my way around the doorframe and into the room. I tread closer to the adjoining door, then tentatively reach for the handle. Slick with sweat, my fingers close around the knob. I brace myself and turn it halfway. Then, a shot rings out at the back of the courthouse.

I jerk my trembling fingers away from the door handle and bolt from the room, following the sound of returning fire. “Stay down!” I yell back to Jerome. I race to the foyer and cautiously work my way out through the front door and onto the crumbling steps. There’s no sign of the guard, or Trout, anywhere. The guard might have gone for help, or he could be dead for all I know. Trout too. More gunfire erupts at the back of the building. I tear down the rest of the steps two at a time and flatten myself against the side of the building. If Trout’s fending off the Rogues alone, he’s in big trouble.

Inch by inch, I make my way along the wall, praying my boots don’t crunch the gravel beneath me, until I reach the back of the building. I hold my breath and listen for a moment, then lean out a few centimeters to peer around the corner. Almost immediately, I spot Trout hunkered down behind a crumbling retaining wall. I cast a quick glance around at the half-demolished buildings surrounding the courthouse. Blade and Rummy could be holed up anywhere.

Another shot rings out, and all at once I catch a glimpse of Rummy’s head ducking down inside the cab of an abandoned truck. I study the surrounding area, searching every open doorway or window for any sign of Blade. There’s no telling which of the Rogues has Blackbeard’s gun, but I’m betting on Rummy. He’s used to being the one in charge. Either way, Trout’s in a vulnerable position stuck behind that wall. If Blade sneaks up behind him, he has nowhere to run other than straight into Rummy’s line of fire. There’s only one thing I can do to help him; take Rummy down. And with him goes my plan to win over the Rogues.

I pull back behind the wall and assess my odds. Right now, I have the element of surprise, but I’ll only have one shot at this.

I blow a breath of air over my sweaty face, then count to three before I move back into position. I lean out just far enough to spot Rummy. He’s crouched down too low to get a clear shot. I breathe slowly in and out, willing my knocking knees to hold still and my wildly beating heart to steady itself. Minutes tick by, no one makes a move. I keep my right eye glued to the scope, focusing in on the inevitable moment. All of a sudden an uneasy feeling comes over me. I try to dismiss it, but the inkling that something is wrong intensifies. I chance a quick glance over my shoulder. There’s no one there, but I can’t rid myself of the unease that’s crept into my bones.

I settle back into position, and stare through the scope again pain radiating through my neck from the effort of remaining perfectly still, while wholly alert.

Trout fires again at the shell of the truck. Bullets bounce off the metal with a dull clang like the swing of a hammer on steel. Seconds later, Rummy pops up. I squeeze the trigger. Everything unravels before me like a paper chain in time. His right shoulder jerks backward and he falls onto the seat. I flinch at the agonized cry that cuts through the air. Shaking, I lower my gun, and scrunch my eyes shut. I lean back against the wall and slide down, ignoring the pain when my jacket rolls up and my skin scrapes against the rough concrete. My limbs go limp and slack. I might have killed him, but I don’t feel vindicated, or euphoric, or even relieved. Only numb.

After a few minutes, I open my eyes and glance hesitantly around. The ominous feeling that someone is watching me returns. I reach for my gun and instantly another chill passes over me. The hairs on the back of my neck tingle. I can almost imagine Blade’s breath on me.

I jump up, swivel, pan the entire area, haphazardly pointing my rifle in every direction. I’m tempted to call out to Trout to make sure he’s okay, but I don’t dare open my mouth. I look up, too late to shield myself from the figure leaping from the roof.

M
y lips part
, but the cry sticks in the back of my throat as my body slams sideways. My head connects with the concrete wall, cracking my skull and turning my brain to mush.

Darkness everywhere. The air is so thick with smoke it’s hard to see at first. Ma walks toward me through the flames as Shoshane City burns around her. My heart jolts. I want to stretch out my arms to her, but my limbs are too heavy to move beneath some crushing weight. And then her skin begins to melt and I try to scream to warn her. She opens her mouth, but the lilt in her voice is someone else’s …

“Derry! Can you hear me?”

My eyelids twitch. Beyond the darkness, I see a dingy ceiling, but no flames, and no lingering smell of burning flesh. I blink and gulp a breath, disoriented. The weight on my chest has lifted, leaving in its wake a dull throbbing in my ribs. I open my eyes, straining to make out the blurry shape forming in front of me. Sven stares down at me, wide-eyed. “Are you okay?”

I groan, and pull myself up into a sitting position. Everything aches deep inside. I frown across at a wall map of the bunker system. How did I end up in Jerome’s office? “What happened?” I ask, rubbing my neck.

“I got here just in time to see Blade dive off the roof and use you as his landing pad,” Sven says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I lean my aching head into my hands, as it all trickles back to mind. Crossed cleavers on a pulsing neck looming closer, then everything going black.

“I think I killed Rummy,” I say, flinching at the words.

Sven kneels beside me, takes my hand in his and brushes my hair gently out of my face. “You clipped his shoulder. He’ll live.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Who else is here?”

“Jerome, and a few of the Undergrounders. The guard alerted us.”

“Blade and Rummy?”

“Escorted back to the holding cell.”

My stomach tightens. “Is Blackbeard gonna make it?”

Sven rubs a hand over his jaw. “The scissors missed his carotid artery. Good thing too, or he’d have bled out before we could have done anything to help. The doctors are working on him. Rummy’s gonna need that shoulder looked at—soon as the docs are through with Blackbeard.”

I furrow my brow. “What about our plan?”

Sven shakes his head. “We can’t send Rummy out to negotiate with the Rogues with a bullet in his shoulder. It would only incense them to attack us.”

“Then we need to find Jerome and figure out something else.” I struggle to my feet, wincing in pain. “I feel like I’ve been slammed by a bison.”

Sven lifts an eyebrow. “You’re lucky you can still feel anything. Blade would have snapped your neck if I’d got there two seconds later.”

I throw him a grateful look. He’s right. Blade’s been waiting for his chance for a long time.

W
e make
our way out to the front of the building where Trout is huddled in conversation with Jerome and several armed Undergrounders.

“Are you all right?” Jerome asks, eying me with concern when I join them.

“I’ll live,” I say. “It’s not the first time Blade’s kicked me in the ribs. I’m more concerned about Blackbeard.”

“We’ll know more soon.” Jerome throws me an apologetic look. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. We both underestimated Blade and Rummy. I’m posting a minimum of two guards at the holding cell from now on, and two more outside the courthouse.”

“What do we do about the Rogues outside the city?” Trout asks. “We can’t send Rummy out there now.”

“We’ll have to wait until we get him patched up,” Jerome says.

I shake my head. “We’re out of time. We’ll just have to send Blade instead.”

Trout throws me a look of dismay. “We can’t trust him. He’ll never come back.”

I grimace. “He will if we make it clear to him Rummy’s life is on the line if he doesn’t.”

Sven crosses his thick arms over his chest. “I’m not sure the Rogues will listen to Blade. He has no rank in the gang, other than being Rummy’s brother.”

“Maybe it’s enough of a credential,” I say. “It’s worth a try.”

“All right,” Jerome says, “but if he’s not back in twenty-four hours, I’m calling off the mission. We can’t fight the Rogues on one front and the Sweepers on another.”

“Let me talk to him,” I say. “He owes me a favor.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sven says.

“Not a smart move,” Trout retorts. “Blade won’t cooperate if he thinks we’re trying to intimidate him.” He frowns at Sven. “Don’t you need to go check on Sook anyway? You’re in charge of keeping him alive.”

Jerome gives a curt nod. “Good idea. Derry, you take Trout and see what you can do to persuade Blade to cooperate.”

Sven squares his jaw, his face impassive, and strides off without another word.

Trout and I tromp up the courthouse steps, avoiding eye contact. Jerome doesn’t know the real reason Trout didn’t want Sven accompanying me. I’m almost certain Trout hasn’t had a chance to talk to Jakob yet, but when he does, he won’t waste any time telling him a clone kissed me. I push the discomfiting thought aside as an item to deal with when I’m not in crisis mode. Not that I have too many moments like that anymore.

“We’re here to see Blade,” Trout says to one of the guards stationed in the corridor.

“In there,” the guard replies, gesturing with his chin to the room that houses the holding cell. “They took the other one off to fix him up.”

“Thanks,” I say, as I follow Trout inside.

Blade is sitting with his back to the wall, hands secured behind him, head slumped forward.

“Nap time’s over,” I call out.

He lifts his head and scowls, his dark eyes skinning me alive. The ragged scar running up the left side of his face twitches like a serpent. “Bet you ’bout got the wind knocked out of yer, eh?”

I smirk back at him. “That’s about
all
you accomplished.”

A flash of anger blazes across his face. “You wouldn’t be breathing right now if it weren’t for that oversized clone.”

“How’d you like another shot at some fresh air? I have a proposition for you.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Ain’t got no one to do your dirty work now you gone and popped Rummy, huh?”

“He left me no choice. It was a cheap shot on his part, agreeing to help us, then stabbing Blackbeard.”

Blade studies me for a moment. “Caging a man up ain’t right. He done his time in the center all those years.”

“All the more reason we need to work together now,” Trout says. “We finally have a real shot at taking the Sweepers down, if you’d quit screwing things up. We need you to persuade the Rogues to join us.”

A scowl twists Blade’s inked features. “We don’t stand a chance. Them suckers in the Craniopolis are sick.”

“Not all of them,” Trout replies. “There are scientists being held there against their will. Clones and deviations who desperately want out. They’ll fight with us if we give them the slightest hope of victory.”

Blade wets his lips and then scoots forward, leering at me through the bars. “Say we do shut down the Sweepers. Then what? There’s a whole lot more Undergrounders out there than Rogues. You’ll just lock us bad boys up again after we help you. No dice, Queen Bee. Do it yourself.”

I blink, suddenly feeling out of my depth. I haven’t given much thought to how we’d run a world without Sweepers. There’s barely been time to weigh the precarious decisions I’m forced to make every day; mostly I’ve been going with my gut like Big Ed taught me. But I’ve known all along we’d have to hammer this out, sooner or later. The Rogues were incarcerated in the reeducation center for a reason. But whatever those reasons were, they disappeared in the meltdown. What grounds do I have to judge them for crimes committed in a world that doesn’t exist anymore? I slide my gaze in Blade’s direction. “Maybe it will be redemption enough in the eyes of the Undergrounders if you fight alongside us.”

He sniffs hard, boring into me with a steely gaze. “I need a guarantee the Rogues will be free members in whatever little club you and Jerome cook up when this is over.”

My pulse races. I run my hand distractedly over my hair. This isn’t my decision to make, but he’s got me in a tight spot, and time is running out for Brock and the others. Trout catches my eye and shrugs. I glance over at the guards by the door. They keep their eyes front and forward, a good indication they’re keeping their opinions to themselves. But I know their loyalty will be to Jerome if he disagrees with what I’m about to do.

I blow out a silent breath. “All right. You have my word you’ll be free citizens, provided you agree to swear allegiance to an elected council of survivors. There can be no more warring factions once the Sweepers are eliminated, no Rogues, no Slicers, no clones, no Undergrounders, just survivors.”

“A council of survivors.” A hollow smile flicks across Blade’s lips. “I’m in.”

F
ifteen minutes later
, Blade is trussed up and ready to go, one side of a cardboard box taped to his chest, the other to his back, with the words
Help me!
sprawled across them in Trout’s best print.

I stifle a laugh at the thunderous look on Blade’s face. “Sorry,” I say, feigning an apologetic tone. “Just never pictured you in a sandwich board before.”

“So how’s this work?” he growls. “One of them riders gonna take me out there?”

Jerome shakes his head. “You’re gonna hoof it on your own two feet. You can’t ride with your hands tied behind your back.”

Blade narrows his eyes at him. “I ain’t traipsing out there tied up like a turkey. What about Sweepers?”

“They won’t come within a mile of the city,” Jerome replies. “You’ll be safe until you hit the tree line. By then your cronies should have made an appearance.”

“Twenty-four hours,” I add. “After that, all bets are off.”

Blade glowers at me. “You ain’t seen the last of me.”

W
e watch
in silence from inside the barricade as Blade exits the main gate and stumbles forward several feet into the rubble, before coming to an abrupt halt. He glances around uncertainly, as if waiting on some unspoken command to proceed. For a moment I think he’s going to chicken out and come running back, but then Jerome signals to the men in the watchtower and the gate slowly creaks closed, eliminating any chance of return. Blade stares at the sealed entry for a few minutes, as if digesting the implications, and then turns and hobbles forward over the pile of debris and wreckage. His pace is agonizingly slow to watch, but I can’t fault him for not wanting to face-plant in the debris with his hands tied behind his back.

Jerome raises his binoculars, pans the tree line meticulously, right to left.

“See anything?” I ask, craning forward.

“Nothing yet,” he says, holding the binoculars out to me.

I take them and study the forest in the distance, then train them on Blade.

He moves with an uncertain gait, halfway between the city gates and the tree line. I hold my breath, expecting at any minute to see a band of Rogues emerge and beat a hasty retreat with him. Minutes tick by, and I detect no sign of movement, other than Blade’s awkward shuffle as he struggles to keep his balance. There’s no indication he’s made contact with anyone yet. My pulse races as he edges ever closer to the undergrowth. A rabbit suddenly springs from a thicket, and he stumbles backward, startled, but gets a foot behind him.

“What is it?” Trout asks.

“Nothing. Jack rabbit. Blade almost fell over from fright. Still no sign of the Rogues.” I pass the binoculars to Trout with an exasperated shrug. He wipes the lenses on his jacket and adjusts the focus.

I watch the disappearing dot that is Blade, My eyes glaze over. What if the Rogues have left already? We’ll have to make the trek to the wilderness after all.

“I see them!” Trout whispers, a tremor in his voice. “They’ve got Blade. They’re cutting him loose.”

I snatch the binoculars back from him, but by the time I focus in, Blade has disappeared.

“How many of them were there?’ I ask.

“Five, maybe six, hard to count through the bushes. Who knows how many more of them are out there.”

“There’s nothing we can do now but wait,” Jerome says, a resigned look on his face. “I’m going to the clinic to check on Blackbeard. You two should get some food and rest. The watchtower will alert us as soon as Blade returns.”

Trout raises his brows at me and smacks his lips. “Food sounds good to me.”

We walk back together to the rider’s barn without saying much. I don’t know if Jakob is still with Izzy’s brother, but if he’s back, I’ll have to tell him about what happened with Sven, preferably before Trout does. Right now I’m too tired to think about anything more than putting one foot in front of the other, but this is a conversation I can’t put off much longer.

Inside the riders’ barn, Tucker descends on me and for a few minutes I submit to his lavish display of affection. We haven’t seen much of each other over the last couple of days, but the riders spoil him like crazy, and he doesn’t seem overly upset at the amount of time we’re spending apart.

When he’s had his fill of reconnecting, I wander back to the bathroom. My spur-of-the-moment promise of freedom to Blade, and the rest of the Rogues, nags at me. It’s the thought that there’s no justice for Mason in what I did that bothers me. I’m conflicted about letting Blade walk free, but I gave my word. I frown at the pale face in the cracked mirror and flick a greasy strand of hair out of my eyes.
Derry Connelly
.
Who are you anymore?

I stare down at my dirt-packed fingernails. I have blood on these hands. Whoever I used to be, this is who I’ve become—pardoner and executioner in a world with no North Star.