Gravity (The Taking) (27 page)

CHAPTER 28

As we climb onto the tron, I can’t help wondering if we look suspicious. Giant backpacks on each of our backs, combat clothes. I can’t imagine we look normal, but no one says anything; in fact, no one pays us any attention. I glance around the tron at the long faces and empty expressions. Many of these people lost a family member or a friend or a neighbor today.

It’s a sad day for America, for the world.

We ride in silence, afraid to speak for fear of revealing something about our plan by mistake. Thankfully, the ride is short, and we’re exiting onto the auto-walk that leads to the airport, the three of us its only passengers. We are so visible. I want to conceal myself, but my identity, along with Law’s, is what will get us inside.

A guard station comes into view to the left of the walk, and a guard steps out, eyeing us with suspicion until he recognizes Lawrence. “Hello, Mr. Cartier,” he says. “Going on another visit today?”

“No, just delivering some supplies and checking available hovercrafts. Mom might visit the Europeans tomorrow.”

The guard nods, but inside I’m screaming at Law to come up with a better lie. President Cartier could have her assistant make a call to find out the available planes or she could check the information herself on her T-screen. There’s no way the guard will buy it, but then as soon as my doubts surface, the gate opens and he waves us forward. I fight to keep my composure as we continue on down the auto-walk and farther into the airport itself. It’s different than I imagined. A huge single-level building sits in front of us. All metal and no frills, with only a few windows and the set of double doors in the center where the auto-walk ends. On the right and left sides of the building are row after row of various hovercrafts, stretching all the way to the gate. I’ve seen them soaring over my house a zillion times, but it’s nothing like seeing one this close. They’re gigantic with shiny black exteriors and windows that hide what’s inside, creepy like a spider.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Law whispers and I shake myself into focus.

“Sorry, what?”

“We’ll have to go inside,” he says. “The guard will be watching to make sure we do. Once in there, this gets tricky. I say you and Gretchen slip into the shadows as soon as we enter. Get to the back of the building. There’s another set of double doors in the middle, but to the far left is a single door that technicians use to get outside. Go through that one. I’m guessing the base will be out back. I’ll go talk to the crew as we planned, hopefully giving you enough time to slip out without notice.”

Gretchen starts to protest, but the doors open and Law starts for the right, nodding me to the left. The “airport” is nothing more than a warehouse of supplies. Bins of scrap parts scatter across the open floor, giving me the perfect cover to skirt along the wall to the back door. It’s almost in sight when Gretchen trips behind me, barreling into a stack of bins and causing them to cascade to the floor with a loud clatter. Rushing footsteps close in, and the only thing between them and us is a stack of bins that is only six feet wide and maybe seven tall. If they peek around the bin, we’re caught. I’m torn between running for the door, staying still, or ducking into what looks like an office across from me, but what if someone’s in there? I suck in a breath and wait, listening, hoping I can tell which way they’re coming from. After the longest second of my life, the footsteps stop and a man yells, “Get Alex down here to clean this up.” Then the footsteps retreat and I release a breath, thankful luck is on my side today.

Once we’re through the side door, there’s a set of stairs that leads down, but to what I can’t make out. My eyes dart around. I don’t see anyone. I race for the stairs, jumping down from the first level to the next and onto a flat metal surface as long and wide as two of my houses. Past the metal surface is nothing but woods, and nothing and no one is visible from the right or left. I study the surface, at a loss for what it is, when Gretchen reaches me, her breath heavy. “Care to warn me before you pull out your freakish abilities? We can’t all jump down a flight of stairs,” she hisses.

I grimace. “Sorry,” I say, and then point to the ground. “What do you think this is? Surely not the base. Unless it’s underground, then we’d be…”

“Standing on the roof,” she says.

And as though the thing heard us, it begins to shake and rattle, sending us stumbling backward. A four-by-eight section to the right and center of us slides open and a guard slips out, biting into an apple, oblivious to us standing there until I punch him in the gut and right hook to hopefully knock him out, but before I can check, the door starts to lower back down. I scream at Gretchen, “Keep watch. I’ll be back in ten. If not…If not—”

“No. Don’t even think it. Just hurry.”

I dip inside the opening moments before it closes, but I’m met by darkness. My eyes strain to find a hint of light, and then, “Is someone there?” a voice calls. The rest of my senses heighten, and though I can’t see an inch in front of my face, I know people are there. I hear their heartbeats, their breaths. I smell their sweat, their vomit, their urine. But worst of all, I feel their fear. It’s overwhelming to sense so much from so many all at once.

I fumble in my backpack to find the flashlight I slid into the outside pocket and click it on, only to wish I’d done this in the dark. One long walkway darts down the center of the base, starting at the platform I stand on and ending at the opposite wall. On the right and left sit four cages of people, crammed in so blood drips from those against the cage walls, the metal pressing into their skin. But they look content compared to those in the back. Many are hyperventilating, others sobbing. It’s the worst possible nightmare come true for these people. I have to get them out.

“Hello,” I say, hoping to get their attention. But when no one says anything I strengthen my voice and call out, “I’m here to free you, but I’m going to need your help.” This gets them going, and a few people call out to me, begging for me to free them first.

Then an elderly lady, two cages back on my right, says, “What can we do?”

I rush over to her, realizing she may be the only sane person in the group. “I need to know how to open the cages. Do you have any clue? A keycard? A security system?”

She tries to move but is unable to budge. “They keep going under the steps, but I’m not sure what’s down there.”

“Thank you,” I say and dash back to the steps. Sure enough, there’s a tiny room under the stairs, no larger than a closet, and filled with equipment and a T-screen that flashes with a reading every few seconds, but of what I can’t be sure.
Think, Ari
, I tell myself.

I click on the T-screen and try to override the password, thinking maybe the cages have computerized locks, but I can’t even get into the system to find out. I focus my flashlight on every inch of the tiny room, hoping to find anything that clues me in, and just when I’m about to scream, the light passes over a scanner. Of course. Everything in our world operates by a scanner, but they wouldn’t… I reach into my boot and pull out the gold keycard, hesitating, and then slide it through the scanner. Instantly, the words A
CCESS
O
VERRIDE:
G
RANTED
fill the screen, and then two things pop up at once. A timer set to twenty-five seconds and a list of names that must be the people caged in front of me. I fight the urge to scan the list, wondering if I’ll recognize any of the names. I close both of the screens and search for anything that could do with locks when I think back to the filing system at Parliament when Jackson and I stole the video to lab three. I had to scan the master key once to get into the room and again to unlock the files. Maybe this is similar.

I swipe the keycard, expecting either the cage doors to open or nothing to happen at all, but instead, another window pops up on the T-screen asking for a seven-digit password. I have no clue what it might be and time is running out. I step around the stairs and address the group again. “It wants a seven-digit password. Any clues or suggestions? It might lock me out if I enter something wrong.”

A soft voice speaks up from the very back left cage, so small I can hardly hear it.

“What was that?” I ask, nearing. “I can’t hear you.”

I shine the flashlight into the cage and stumble back, falling hard onto the ground. “No. How in the world…?”

“I said, try
Freedom
,” Cybil says, her voice strong, her head high. Even now, she’s an Operative, always on the job.

“Cybil. Of all people, I never would have guessed.”

She moves in what I guess is a shrug, but her body can’t shift enough to complete the response. “What can I say? I got curious.” She breaks into a coughing fit before she can continue. “We have loads of xylem around the office. I just wanted to see… And now, well, I guess
irony
about covers it.”

I raise an eyebrow. That definitely doesn’t sound like the Cybil I know. I start to question her further when the ceiling rattles and my eyes dart to a sliver of sunlight shining in from the top of the stairs.

Someone’s coming, which means something must have happened to Gretchen.

I click off the flashlight and edge around the side of the last cage, wedging myself between it and the wall, concentrating on my breathing. In and out, in and out, in short, smooth breaths, hoping to stay as still and quiet as possible.

The door opens farther, and shrieks sound from the cages closest to the door, making me wonder if these people are being tortured. Light shines into the front of the base, while footsteps click down the stairs, slow and steady. Whoever is in here enjoys this; I can tell by the easiness of his heartbeat and the way his steps ooze arrogance. It takes all of me not to attack him, but with the door open, I’m afraid someone would hear him scream.

He
click
,
click
,
click
s down the walkway, dragging something across the cages so it sends a pinging sound into the air. I grit my teeth and press farther against the cage, hoping I’m not hurting anyone, but knowing if I don’t steel myself, I’ll lash out at the sicko. He reaches the last cage, turns back, and walks with the same carelessness back down the aisle. I hear him round the stairs and click on the T-screen, and then everything gets bad.

“What the…?” he says.

I realize the screen still shows the security window requesting my password, and he must know that only a Lead Op or someone within Parliament could access that screen. I hesitate, unsure of what to do, and then charge forward just as he’s about to ascend the stairs. He whips around, but I’m faster, my reflexes sharper, and I flip forward and kick him in the face. He’s a big guy so I know that won’t be enough. I pull back to hit him again when the spark ignites within me, and I’m on him, warmth spreading through me. I stop, my heart racing, as I realize what I’ve just done—the Taking, killing him.

A cry releases from me before I can stop it. I’ve just killed someone using the very weapon the Ancient attackers used against us. I feel sick. I am sick.

“Ari, the code,” Cybil screams.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to put what I’ve done out of my mind, tucked away for a quieter time—if I make it through this.

The T-screen is still lit, showing the security prompt, but another screen catches my eye, and suddenly terror rips through me. The countdown clock flashes, which means whatever Parliament has planned is about to begin. I say a silent prayer and type in F-R-E-E-D-O-M. The doors all open, and everyone tries to exit at once, causing the children and elderly to scream out.

“Stop!” I shout. “Everyone needs a vial. Wait, don’t push,” I say as a flood of people swarms past me. “Wait! I have something that will stop the infection!” Some turn back, but many are already gone, running with whatever strength they have to get away. I guess I can’t blame them, but it’s all in vain. The air is just going to poison them as soon as they breathe it, causing whatever symptoms they have to worsen and all of those people will soon be dead.

I sigh, wishing I would have given out the serum first, but it’s too late to worry, so I start passing out a vial to everyone left, telling them to head for the port. Before long, the bag is empty and I’m left staring into hopeful faces with nothing left to give them. Then Gretchen races down the stairs, her shirt smeared with blood, and pulls out her bag, passing out the rest of the vials. Relief washes over me at the sight of her. She reaches into her bag for another vial and passes it to the elderly lady who told me about the stairs.

“The port is just north of the airport,” I say to the lady. “Do you know how to get there? Do you think you can make it?”

“I’m not going to the port. I’m going home.”

“But, please. The serum will only last an hour. You’ll die unless you go.”

“Sweetie,” she says, taking my hand, “there is a lot of gray between life and death. Life isn’t worth living if you aren’t with the ones you love. I’m going home to my Henry. I know I won’t live long, and that’s okay, but at least I can see him one last time.”

I watch her in awe as she hobbles up the exit and out into the poisoned air. Gretchen and I are about to follow when I notice a small girl, maybe eight years old, cowering in the corner of one of the cages.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” I say. “Gretchen, I need another vial.” I hold out my hand, but when nothing drops into it, I peer around at her. “Another vial?”

She shakes her head. “I’m out.”

I look from her to the little girl, who shakes uncontrollably. “Can you check again?” I pull out my coolant bag and dump it upside down, hoping a vial will drop from within, but it doesn’t. Just then, an alarm sounds, either inside the room or out, I’m not sure.

“We have to go, Ari, now,” Gretchen urges.

“We can’t just leave her.” I bend down to pick her up and feel something cold press against my ankle. I forgot I slipped the extra vial for me into my boot. I pull it out and hand it over to the girl. “Drink this; you’ll feel better. I promise.”