Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (29 page)

“Let’s go,” she urges.

I stare after her retreating figure. She doesn’t care that Mason’s dead. But then, why would she? He’s just another clone to her. An inferior life form. She’s watched dozens of them expire in the past few hours.

I close my fist over the chip and a flurry of white powder trickles through my fingers.

I glance down at the rigid form at my feet, eyes screwed tight in shrunken sockets, and swallow back a sob. The life recedes from Mason’s graying face, faster than sand into a sinkhole. I press my fist to my lips, feel my warm breath grind in and out, knowing that Mason’s lungs will never fill with air again.

“He’s dead,” I whisper woodenly, when Sven comes running up with Jakob.

Sven falls to his knees by Mason’s side and rams his hands into his hair. He breathes unevenly, an empty look in his eyes that I fathom only too well. I lay a hand on his shoulder and a powerful tremor goes through him. He turns and crushes me to his chest with one hand, his whole body shaking. I close my eyes and listen to the steady boom of his heartbeat. How can a heart this powerful ever expire?

Tucker gives a forlorn yelp and wedges his way in between us. I lean down and ruffle his neck. “It’s all right, boy.”

Sven releases me, wipes a sleeve over his eyes.

“He shouldn’t have died like this,” Jakob says, frowning.

“
No
one
should die like this.” I kick at a fungi-enameled stump and startle a field mouse out of the rotting wood inside. Mason was a better man than most, and it was only in the last unit of his life that I acknowledged it.

Despite the crushing loss I feel, a strange sense of calm comes over me, as if Mason has somehow reached out and given me a parting gift of his indomitable grit. I won’t burrow back down beneath the earth and hide from the Sweepers. I will avenge him. With Sven’s help, I’ll find a way to free the clones and deviations.

The thudding of running feet catapults me back into action.

“We gotta go,” insists the gangly girl who ran by earlier. She twists her lips as if the sight of Mason’s body repels her.

Sven stands, his eyes bloodshot. “I’ll get the prisoners,” he mumbles, before walking off.

I kneel and gather a fistful of powdery ashes from Mason’s shrunken corpse, stashing them in a side pouch on my pack. Big Ed says everyone comes into the world with a soul and nobody’s proved him wrong yet. When the time is right, I’ll give Mason a proper funeral. I only wish I could do the same for Owen.

I dust my hands off on my pants, and then jam my fists guiltily into my pockets. It feels too casual a gesture under the circumstances. “Did you find the shooters?” I ask the girl.

She nods. “One of them’s dead. The other one got away.”

“Schutz Clones?”

She shakes her head. “All tatted up like that Rogue you dragged out of the Craniopolis.”

My brows shoot up. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone other than Lyong was after us. Unless—

I swallow hard. “Where’s the body?”

The girl gestures behind her. “In the brush.”

“Come on!” I grab Jakob's hand and make a beeline back down the trail. My legs weave, as if I’m sleepwalking through the trampled undergrowth. But I can’t be, because there’s an awful buzzing in my head that’s getting worse as we approach the body.

Two Council members are already at work piling brush on the remains.

“Wait!” I croak.

They look up, startled.

I grab the branches on top of the body and toss them aside. Tucker jumps in and starts digging—like it’s some kind of game.

Jakob yanks on my arm. “Derry! What are you doing?”

I ignore him, scrabbling to clear the leaves and debris from the shooter’s face. My breathing quickens when I see the tattoos. My hunch was right.

Sort of.

It’s Lipsy.

I stare down at her. Silent and still in her final resting place. Tears prick at my eyes. I never even knew her real name. I wish things could have ended differently for her. She shouldn’t be here.

Tucker stops burrowing and sits down quietly on his haunches, as if sensing from my mood that the game has ended.

“You seen her before?” asks one of the Council members.

“Yus.” My voice comes out thick, slurred like Da’s when he’d been drinking. My thoughts run together in a jumble of rationalizations. It’s a good thing Lipsy's dead, isn’t it? If she killed Mason, she deserved to die.

Truth is, I wish it were Blade lying here. I know he must have masterminded the attack. Lipsy didn’t have enough between her ears to pull it off.

I look up at the sound of someone thrashing through the brush. Sven stomps over to us, Won and Rummy in tow.

Sven stares down at Mason’s killer, his face unreadable. “A woman,” he says. “Shame about those tattoos.”

I bite my lip and throw a glance in Rummy’s direction. His eyes bore into me. He shoves Won aside, and peers around Sven at Lipsy's body. A sinister shadow crosses his face. “Where’s Blade?” he asks.

Sven frowns. “Who’s Blade?”

Rummy wheels around and throws his bound fists in an uppercut punch into Sven’s jaw. “Blade’s my little brother, you overgrown freak.”

My eyes widen.
Brother?

Sven grabs Rummy’s wrists in one hand and raises him several inches off the ground. “I’ve got news for you, sleazebag. The only freaks here are you and your cohort in the dirt.”

I rub my brow, trying to piece it together. It makes sense. The unspoken bond, yet constant rivalry, between them. Blade’s desperation to rescue Rummy from the Sweepers. Tattoos aside, they even look similar.

A dreadful thought comes to mind. I turn to Rummy, still dangling from Sven’s fist. “Did you know Blade was following us?” I yell at him.

A smile splits his face like I’ve told a joke. My skin turns clammy and cold. The fleabag could have warned us Blade and Lipsy were tracking us. Mason would still be alive. Rummy owed us as much. We saved his life—but that doesn’t mean squat to him. I scrub my hand over my face in desperation. I was a fool to bring him along. I should have left him to his fate in the Craniopolis. A shiver runs down my back. Now I’m going to have to find a way to get rid of him.

“We need to go,” Jakob says.

Sven drops Rummy back to the ground and shoves him forward. Won stumbles, half-running after him to keep from falling.

I grab some branches and help the others cover Lipsy's body back up. “Did you get her gun?” I ask, turning to one of the Council members.

He gestures to the rifle propped up against a tree behind us. I glance at it, and then spin back around for another look. A sickening feeling rises up inside me. I trudge over to the tree, my stomach knotting tighter with every step.

I pick the gun up and turn it over—custom stock with a silver stag inlay. I run my fingers slowly over the antique ornament to make sure.

“What is it?” Jakob leans over my arm.

I stare at him, my breath coming in ragged spikes.

His eyes flicker in comprehension.

I hunch forward, bracing myself against a wave of unbearable pain. Blade and Lipsy must have killed Big Ed for this—
with
this.

I force a breath in and out. All this time I had clung to the delirious hope that Big Ed could take care of himself. But, he was an old man after all. Skilled in mountain ways, but no match for desperate Rogues—Blade’s been harboring revenge ever since Big Ed ambushed him on the trail to Lewis Falls.

“Sweet piece, isn’t it?” the gangly girl says, holding out her hand for the gun. “It came with the Rogue.”

I fix her with an accusatory stare. “It belonged to an Undergrounder from our camp.”

She looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I guess you can keep it.”

“You guess?” I stare at her coldly until she gives a one-shouldered shrug and walks off.

“It doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Jakob says. “If anyone can survive out there, it’s Big Ed.”

I look away. He’s right, only this time I stacked the odds against Big Ed by leaving that dirtbag Blade alive in the bear den. Rage swells inside me. Every time I show the Rogues mercy, it comes back to bite me. Not this time. I call Tucker to heel and swing my pack over my shoulder. “Someone’s going to pay for this.”

“Wait!” Jakob wrinkles his brow, but before he can stop me, I take off running through the undergrowth. My heart beats wildly, anger rapidly displacing my grief. I’m not sure how, or when, I’m going to avenge Mason’s death, but I can start by exacting retribution for Big Ed’s.

I crash through the brush, all my fury focused on the only person I can touch now.

My breath comes in loud rasps, as if someone’s kneeling on my ribs. I sniff back tears, nightmarish images flashing through my head—Owen's battered, swollen face in the tent, Rummy’s sluggish eyes watching me like a puff adder, Schutzmesser in hand, deliberating. I wish I’d let the Sweepers have him. Written him off as a donation to science—his rightful penance.

I finally spot him up ahead, skulking along behind the others, still tethered to Won. I charge him from behind and tackle him to the ground, battering him in the face with my fists until Sven drags me off him. Rummy rolls around, bloodied and moaning. Won scrambles up to his hands and knees, shaken and disoriented, like a dog confused by its leash.

“What was that for, you little vixen?” Rummy yells, struggling to sit up.

I rub my stinging fists. “Your sleazebag brother killed Big Ed and took his gun.”

“I ain’t buyin’ that,” Rummy scowls.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You let Blade kill Mason too, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t see nuthin’.” Rummy feels his way around his jaw gingerly and then gestures to Sven. “How could I? This ape’s got me and Buddha-head tied on a four-foot rope like circus animals.”

“Right where you belong!” I say, shrugging off Sven’s restraining hand. Maybe it was the ape reference, but this time he doesn’t try to stop me when I knee Rummy hard in the chest. He recoils and falls backward with a muffled oomph. I kick him in the ribs one more time for good measure and then turn around to the dumbstruck Council members. “What are you looking at?”

The sun’s already a dying glow nesting in the distant granite peaks when we finally reach the vicinity of the Council’s camp, exhausted, and eager to get below ground before darkness settles over the canyon.

“There’s our final marker.” Jakob points to an upright arrow carved into a nearby tree trunk. “The Council scouts will pick us up now.”

Right on cue, several young men and women slip out from the cover of the forest to guide us to the bunker entrance, expertly concealed beneath a gnarled root system. We exchange a few terse greetings as they open the hatch. I instruct the watch to keep an eye out for Blade and to shoot any Rogues on sight. Under my direction, the Council takes the two prisoners, Won and Rummy, down first.

“Don’t untie them, no matter what,” I say, Mason’s voice echoing in my head.

Jakob ducks beneath the fibrous fingers of the root system next, and Sven follows, wedging his way through with a disgruntled Tucker in his arms. My worn out legs move like concrete posts—I’m hugely relieved we’ve made it, but sick inside at the horrific losses I haven’t fully acknowledged as real. I descend the bunker ladder unsteadily, and freeze when a choked voice wafts up to me.

“Like I said, no better woman for the job.”

Woozy and weak, I cling to the ladder and peer down the shaft, swaying precariously. There’s only a wink of light to see by.
Am I hearing a ghost?

I stumble the rest of the way down the ladder and jump off, colliding in the process with a wide flannel chest that smells of wood fire and pine and jerky. I lift my head, scarcely breathing, and look up into Big Ed’s rheumy eyes smiling down at me from beneath an unfamiliar hat. He chuckles softly at my flabbergasted expression. Shaking all over, I grasp him in a bear hug. “I thought you were dead!”

He pulls away and gives me a rueful grin. “Might have been, if the Council hadn’t found me. I set my pack and gun down by the river after I cut my hand cleaning out a squirrel. Dang knife slipped. Bled like a Billy goat. Next thing I know my gear’s gone. Figured it had to be those bozos Blade and Lipsy. Must have been tracking me the whole time. I underestimated them.”

“Lipsy's dead,” I say.

Big Ed hefts a shaggy brow upward. “What happened?”

“They attacked us on the trail—they killed Mason with your rifle before we took Lipsy out.”

He furrows his brow, crinkling the puckered skin around his eyes. “What about Blade?” he asks, his voice hardening.

“He got away.”

Big Ed raises the rim of his hat and scratches his forehead, eyes brimming with remorse like he blames himself for Mason’s death. I know how he feels.

I brush my sleeve across my moist lashes. “Owen's … dead too,” I say, my lip wobbling uncontrollably.

The lines branching across Big Ed’s face deepen into dark crevasses. He stares down at me, his dove-gray eyes widening like search beacons. Only the slight quiver of his sprawling beard betrays his grief.

Wordlessly, he wraps me back up in his arms and crushes me to his chest for the longest time. I close my eyes and lean into the comforting canyon smells clinging to him—even the fish guts are an oddly calming reminder of happier times a few short days ago. I’m grateful not to have to recount the whole excruciating story to him yet.

Inside the main bunker, the Council serves us the first decent meal we’ve eaten in a week. I devour the rabbit and potato stew, not caring that I’m dripping juice all over myself.

When I’ve finally eaten my fill, my sanity returns. I glance across the bunker to where Jakob is already curled up on a mat. I need to rest too, but my mind won’t let me. I wipe my sleeve across my mouth and take a good look at the faces gathered around. Young, pimply skinned, around my age. Some a few years older. All casting curious glances my way, maybe because I brought the freak show with me.

A short, stocky guy around Owen's age walks over and sits down beside me. “I’m real sorry about your brother. I’m Trout, by the way. It’s my last name, but it’s what everyone calls me.” He sticks out his right hand and I shake it. It’s calloused and missing part of a finger. There’s any number of ways he could have lost it in this unforgiving existence of ours. Best not to know.