Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (18 page)

I stare down at her bent head in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Lipsy. Don’t you get it? This is your chance to get away from the Rogues.”

I reach out a hand to her, but she shrinks back, shaking her head vehemently.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Have it your way then.”

She rocks gently back and forth in response.

I turn to Mason. “Cut them loose.”

Big Ed and Mason exchange a look, and then Mason pulls out his knife and slashes the ropes around their wrists.

“Have at it,” I say. “You’re on your own.”

“Hey! Wait a minute! Give us back our bleedin’ guns at least!” Blade yells after us.

I flash him a cold smile and throw Lipsy a strip of jerky.

Big Ed, Mason, and I pan out and comb the brush for the next forty-five minutes, whistling intermittently, clambering beneath root systems, checking every crevice and burrow on the off chance Owen's holed up someplace, or passed out and can’t hear us. I keep thinking about how much easier this would be with Tucker’s help. The sob lodged in my throat thickens.

“Maybe Blade’s right,” I say, when we regroup. “The Sweepers always take off when they make an extraction.” I turn to Mason. “I think it’s time to find that backup air vent.”

A somber expression clouds his face. He moves wordlessly back into the brush. Big Ed and I exchange uncertain looks, and then fall in behind him.

Before long we’re climbing a steep slope through a thick mantle of Tamarack trees. My heart weighs heavier than the pack on my back. There’s a real risk this could end badly for everyone. If we don’t make it inside the Craniopolis undetected, I may never see Jakob or Owen again. And I can’t begin to think about what will happen to Tucker when the Sweepers realize they’ve snagged a dog.

Big Ed pulls up and leans his forearms on one knee, panting. “How much farther? This dang hill’s steeper than a cow’s face.”

“It’s right there.” Mason points up the slope. “Beyond that burnt patch.”

I stare at the charred belt of hillside above us. “We’ll be fully exposed once we leave the cover of the trees.”

Big Ed mops at his brow. “Sure you don’t want to wait till dark?”

I hesitate. Our chances of getting inside undetected after sundown are marginally better, but we’re already behind schedule. We need to rescue Jakob before something unimaginable happens to him. I shake my head. “There are lives at stake. How’s the vent secured?”

“There’s a metal grating that has to be unscrewed and a series of mesh discs behind it to trap smaller debris,” Mason says. “Could take a while to get in.”

“Then let’s get on it.”

Big Ed shoves his spectacles up his nose and adjusts his pack. Silently, we creep up the hill another thirty feet or so, M16s at the ready.

“Wait here.” Mason motions us down to the ground and sidles forward alone. When he reaches a small outcrop, he raises his arm and flings a fistful of rocks at a clump of moss overhanging a granite slab. The clang of stone on metal reverberates in my head like an underwater sonic boom. I stiffen and grip my gun tighter, bracing for an explosion of some kind.

Mason hurries back down to us. “It’s clean.”

Heart racing, I scramble up to the cleverly camouflaged vent access and pull the moss overhang to one side. My heart sinks when I step behind it. Big Ed comes up behind me and whistles softly. The grating over the vent is easily four feet in diameter and securely riveted into its iron frame with mammoth metal bolts.

I look down at my feet and kick at the droppings scattered around. “Wolves. Even they can’t figure out how to get in.”

Big Ed kneels and examines the droppings. “Fresh. Must be a pack close by.”

A shiver crosses my shoulders. “Another good reason not to be out here after dark. Let’s get busy.”

Mason sticks his hand beneath the moss overhang and pokes around in a crevice in the granite for a few minutes. He grunts, and I hear a scraping sound as he drags something out.

He holds up a colossal rusted wrench with an adjustable lower jaw. I’m not sure I could lift it, let alone wield it, but Mason’s brandishing it in front of our faces like it’s hollow. "Ramesh stashed it here in case I ever needed a way back in."

I'm warming up to this Ramesh clone. By my calculations, he's taken more than a few risks for Mason.

I watch Mason position the wrench on the first bolt and twist, the cords on the backs of his hands flinching with the effort. Even with his extraordinary strength, it could take a while to loosen these bolts.

I load my pack back on. “I’ll head uphill and spot while you work on the grating.”

Big Ed nods. “We’ll whistle for you when we’re ready.”

I hike to an elevation, which gives me a vantage point to pick off anyone approaching the vent from either direction. I’m worried Blade and Lipsy might have followed us. I don’t understand why Lipsy wouldn’t come with us. Blade couldn’t have stopped her with all of us there. It’s like she thinks she’s one of them now. I slip between the pines spearing their way skyward and throw my pack at my feet. A stunned field mouse darts out from beneath the leaves and scuttles off.

I pull my gun from my shoulder, adjust my scope’s windage knob, and take aim, center mass on the granite slab that marks the vent entry. I’ve never killed a man before. Hard to say what I might do if I see Blade now. I lower my gun and run my hand along the barrel. Lipsy would finally be free.

It’s the smallest of pricks when it hits. Bee sting grade. A brain-freeze jolt of pain in the temples. I fall forward, immobilized, face planting into the mosaic of shriveled pine needles looming up at me from the forest floor.

I’m floating upward, but I can’t figure out where to. Swaths of color bleed into grainy images that swim around me like luminescent jellyfish.

I wake with a violent start, soaked in sweat, and look into the lead-colored eyes of my captor—a barrel-chested, olive-skinned man with long, thick lashes, cleaner than anyone I’ve seen in years. He leans over me, a perturbed look on his face, scalp pinched tight over his smooth head.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice rumbles like a freight train.

I twist my neck to look past him, confirming the fear gnawing at me. I’m inside a Hovermedes. Harnessed in one of those egg-shaped seats. A prisoner. More lab rat status than POW. My heart sinks.

I only zoned out on the hill for a few seconds, wallowing in thoughts of revenge against Blade, but that’s all it took. Owen always said it would kill me in the end. And I’m as good as dead now.

“You’re a Sweeper?” My voice pitches into question mode, as if there’s still a chance this could all be a horrible misunderstanding. Or, better still, a dream. Instinctively I reach up and rub the dull ache in my left temple where the tranquilizer dart went in.

The olive-skinned man opens his mouth to respond, but turns at a loud thump behind him.

A furry head squeezes into the space between us, and then, unbelievably, Tucker is straddling my chest with his paws, tail swishing contentedly behind him. I try to say his name, but there’s a sob the size of a basketball stuck in my throat and all I manage is a gurgle. I pull him toward me, catching a whiff of pine and campfire in his coat. I can’t believe they let him live. But maybe the Sweepers have some other sinister purpose for him.

We stay locked in our sweaty embrace until Tucker wriggles free to sniff at the jerky in my pocket. I tear my eyes away from him and glare at the Sweeper. “Why’d you take my dog?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Had to. You’re inseparable.”

I breathe unevenly in and out. Like he cares. He’s toying with me, just like Blade does. I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing my fear. I nudge Tucker aside and undo the harness that’s cinched so tight it’s cutting off my circulation. Surprisingly, the Sweeper doesn’t react. I flick my eyes around. There’s a good chance he has other options to immobilize me if I try to escape.

I run my eyes over his hulking frame. Not much chance of overpowering him. My best bet is to keep him talking and learn as much as I can. Anything he tells me could prove useful if I have a chance to escape later. “How long were you tracking us?” I ask.

He smiles, an amused intensity in his metallic eyes, as he smooths down the front of his pressed shirt. “A while. Mason was communicating with me when your ship went down. My name is Ramesh.”

My head spins. I frown, trying to make sense of what he said. “You’re not a Sweeper?”

“No!” His eyes glimmer with distaste. “I’m not one of them.”

A sliver of hope pierces through my despair. “I don’t understand. Why did you extract me then?”

“I
rescued
you. Mason sent an encrypted Mayday right before you went down.”

“Did you see him down there?” I ask. “And Big Ed—the old man who was with him?”

Ramesh hesitates. “I couldn’t find them on the scanners.”

“They’re inside the entrance to the backup air vent. They’re trying to remove the grating.”

Ramesh’s face takes on a moss-colored tinge. “They’ll never make it. Security drones will pick them up.”

“Then we have to get to them first.” I bound toward the cockpit, but he bars my way.

“I can’t override the extraction cameras much longer or I’ll arouse suspicion.” Ramesh sets his lips. “If you want to get inside the Craniopolis, you’ll have to leave them behind.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “How long before the extraction cameras kick back on?”

He shrugs. “Twenty minutes. If they’re off for more than an hour at a time, they trigger an irregular maintenance alarm.”

I twist my lips. “That’s not enough time to land. But you can extract them. I know exactly where they are. Take us back to where you picked me up and I’ll guide you.”

Ramesh rubs a hand over his egg-shaped head. His mountainous chest rises and falls beneath his immaculate shirt as he weighs my words. He looks a little older than Mason, same build, but neat and polished-looking. He’s taking a huge risk helping us, but he’s a clone near the end of his life units. Maybe it’s a gamble worth taking to make his life count for something.

Ramesh sighs, a resigned look on his face. “I’ll make one pass. If I can’t find them, I’m heading back in.” He climbs into the cockpit and flicks several switches on the bank of screens. I slide into the seat beside him and secure my harness. Tucker rests his head on my knee. We glide forward, out of hover mode, and swoop around a huge granite outcrop into the canyon.

“You could still come with us, you know.” I turn to Ramesh. “We can figure out some other way to get out.”

He shakes his head. “They’ve upgraded our design since Mason left. We’ve been outfitted with retinal tracking sensors in the right temple that can’t be removed without shutting down brain function. They send some kind of neurotoxin along the optic nerve if the sensor is tampered with.”

“Why do they need to track you?”

Ramesh adjusts the altitude setting on the screen in front of him. “They only turn them on when we leave the Craniopolis. Supposedly, it’s to prevent clones from falling into the hands of subversives if a Hovermedes goes down. In reality, it’s to discourage us from defecting. The sensors track everything—our movements, brainwaves, temperature, organ degeneration, even mood swings. There’s no way to leave the Craniopolis without authorization.”

“Are they tracking you now?”

“Everything’s fed into the system. But it won’t trigger any alarms—I hacked into the scheduling software and logged myself out on routine surveillance.”

I furrow my brow. “Mason said there’s another military clone coming out with us.”

Ramesh scratches the side of his neck. “Sven’s been chipped too. We’ll have to fake his expiration before you leave—otherwise he’s a walking tracking device.”

My stomach churns. “Why are the Sweepers doing such monstrous things?”

Ramesh draws his brows together, as if contemplating his answer. “They’re bringing life to a dying planet through cloning regeneration.”

“You can’t be serious. Cloning’s hardly the gift of life. An expiration date’s a death sentence.”

Ramesh shrugs. “If the Sweepers don’t preserve what life remains, the subversives will slaughter every last survivor out there.”

I shrink back in my seat, rattled by the bite in Ramesh’s tone.

“Subversives are driven by primitive appetites,” he continues. “There is no freedom in a world where those appetites run rampant.”

A cold sensation creeps up my spine. Why is he defending the Sweepers? What if this is a set up and he’s been ordered to bring us in? It’s not a possibility Mason is willing to entertain, but I have no allegiance to anyone inside the Craniopolis. Without Big Ed here, there’s no one’s judgement I really trust. I’ve only my gut to guide me. “Why are you helping us then?”

He throws me a sideways glance. “Maybe I don’t like being expendable.” He cranes his thick neck forward to peer at the screen. “This is where I picked you up.”

I scan the hilltop for any sign of movement.

Ramesh navigates closer and we drop in a tiered pattern. Tucker whimpers and presses up against my legs. Twenty feet from the ground, Ramesh adjusts the controls and we hover, silent as a suspended spider.

“They’re beneath that granite overhang.” I point at the curtain of moss shielding the entrance to the vent.

Ramesh taps on the screen. “I’ll activate the infrared image intensifier.”

I stare, fascinated, at the screen in front of me. The camera lens focuses and scans the granite with x-ray vision. Big Ed and Mason come into view, leaning into the grating, trying to turn the massive wrench.

Ramesh gestures at the gauges. “Do you want to give it a go?”

I turn to him, frowning. “What? You mean … fly?”

He shakes his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Dart them.”

I stiffen. “Can’t we extract them without darts?”

“Less chance of them injuring themselves if they’re sedated.”

“I’m not sure Big Ed’s heart can handle that,” I say, hesitantly. Truth is, I don’t want to immobilize him. I’m still not entirely sure what Ramesh is up to, or where his allegiance lies.