Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (7 page)

“You okay?” Big Ed gasps.

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

He tightens his grip on me. “What happened?”

“He … I tried to save him.”

“Dumb idea. He could have dragged you down with him.”

I glance beneath us at the rapids, shaken by a nightmarish image of Mason’s body thrashing around in the frenzied whirlpool.

Big Ed releases me and shuffles sideways a few steps. “We need to get off this bridge.”

Knees knocking, I drag myself mechanically along the poles after him. Mason’s stony stare drills further into my conscience with each step. What have I done? I wish Tucker were here so I could wrap my arms around him and know that in his eyes I can do no wrong.

Big Ed’s face relaxes when I finally step onto the trail on the other side of the gorge. He reaches out a hand to steady me, but I plough past him and dive into the brush, just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach.

He comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry. It must have been rough for you watching him fall.”

Straightening up, I wipe the sleeve of my shirt across my mouth. I wish that were all I was struggling with. How can I tell him it was my fault?

“We need to find cover. It’s too exposed out here.” Big Ed turns and wades off into the undergrowth. I stumble after him, numb from what I’ve set in motion. I’ve blown the only real hope we had of rescuing Owen and Jakob. Without Mason to back us up, the Rogues will never believe our story. And none of us know how to fly a Hovermedes, so even finding the ship won’t help.

Big Ed’s silhouette melts into the distance and I break into a jog to catch up. The trail is trenched from snowmelt trickling down from the craggy peaks, heightening the risk of skidding on the slippery shale underfoot and hurtling downhill. My legs ache and I’m soaked through from the bone-chilling spray of the rapids.

I slow my pace once I spot Big Ed again, not wanting to give him the opportunity to prod me with any more questions. Guilt stabs at me razor-edged and deep. I wanted revenge, but not like this. What kind of monster am I? The briny tang of tears burns my eyeballs. I desperately need someone to tell me everything’s going to be all right, but the truth is, it’s not. It’s never going to be all right again. My stupidity might just have cost the lives of those I care for most.

After a mile or so, Big Ed veers off the trail and begins bushwhacking his way through dense alder thickets. I drag myself after him, barely able to keep up the pace, even though he’s doing all the work. Hopefully he's looking for a place to make camp. I can’t go much farther.

The moss-mantled ground beneath my boots squishes like an old mattress. Up ahead, Big Ed pauses at a blackened tree trunk. He ducks his head and disappears beneath the hollowed-out root system. When I catch up with him, he’s already undone his pack and pulled out his sleeping bag. My body sags with relief.

“We’ll rest here for a few hours,” he says, throwing me a concerned look.

I nod, breaking eye contact as I slide my pack from my throbbing shoulders. “I’ll look for some firewood.” I walk off before he can object.

I gather the driest pieces of wood I can find, then pull some dead bark for tinder and head back to the hollow where Big Ed has already fashioned a couple of brush beds over the pine needles and spread out our sleeping bags. He watches me intently while I place several small boulders in a circle and assemble the tinder and wood in the center. Big Ed can read anything from a moody sky to a guilty conscience. He’s biding his time, but I know he’s gonna hit me up again about what happened. And part of me wants him to.

He takes out his magnesium fire starter and scrapes it with the blade of his knife over the bark until the sparks take hold. “That should do her.” He rubs his hands together, his silver-framed glasses glinting in the glow of the quivering flames. “Got any water left?”

I shake my canteen. “Half full.”

He nods. “We can boil more for tomorrow. I’ll look for a stream in a bit.”

I rub my hands over my face and scoot back from the fire that’s getting hotter. Or maybe it’s just me burning up from shame.

“Do you want to talk about what happened to Mason?” he asks, after a few uncomfortable minutes of silence.

There’s no condemnation in his tone, but I still blink guiltily. “There's not much to talk about. He … slipped.” My face flushes and I’m thankful for the shadows.

“You gotta let it go, Derry. There was nothing you could have done.” He leans forward and stokes the fire with a stick. “Mason knew the crossing was risky.”

I press my thumbs hard into my aching temples. The kindness in his voice only makes the guilt worse.

“He was scared of heights,” I stammer. “But I said it anyway.”

Big Ed frowns. “Said what?”

“I told him to drop dead.” Tears slide silently down my cheeks. “Then he jumped.”

Big Ed’s eyes grow wide. “
Jumped?
”

I give a glum nod. “He let go of the cable and pushed himself backward.”

Big Ed rams his stick into the embers and it snaps, the sound ricocheting around us.

“It was my fault,” I say, my insides numbing over. “I was taunting him to do it.”

Big Ed frowns at me, his ordinarily rheumy eyes hard like steel. “Whatever you’re guilty of, that sucker killed himself.”

He reaches for his hat and gets to his feet with a grunt. “I’m going to set some snares. With a bit of luck, we’ll have fresh meat by morning. Get some rest.”

I pull off my boots and crawl into my sleeping bag, peering out at Big Ed’s silhouette as he disappears into the trees. He can try all he wants to make me feel better, but what I did to Mason was unforgivable. So far I don’t much like the person I’m becoming. I close my eyelids and immediately begin to drift, marinating in the scent of burning wood.

“Derry! Wake up!”

I spring into a sitting position, my arms still tucked inside my sleeping bag. My nose twitches at the tantalizing aroma of cooked meat.

“There’s a storm brewing,” Big Ed says. “We need to get moving.” He takes a mouthful of water from his canteen, rinses and spits in the dirt. “The Rogues are camped up ahead.”

My chest heaves like it’s set in cement and straining to break free. “Did you see Owen?” I hurriedly slide my legs out of the sleeping bag and fumble around for my boots.

“No, just a couple of Rogues on patrol.”

I cram my sleeping bag into my stuff sack, cinch the straps on my backpack, and zip the mesh pocket closed.

“Here.” Big Ed hands me a bowl of rabbit stew. “Eat this while I bury the fire.”

I slop the food into my mouth and swallow as much as I can without chewing. My stomach recoils, but I force myself to chug it down. I need the energy for what’s to come. Big Ed pulls apart our brush beds and scatters fistfuls of pine needles around the hollow.

Five minutes later, we’re underway. The thin slit of morning that appeared between the tips of the trees and the horizon has disappeared, and the sky is caked with clouds the color of bruises. A horsefly buzzes past my ear and I swat and holler at it.

Big Ed turns around and motions at me to be quiet.

“Sorry,” I mumble, as the first drop of rain splatters on my head.

Within minutes, the sky’s unloading everything it’s got on us. I trudge forward, head down, focusing on Big Ed’s muddy footprints. Soon the wind kicks up, vicious and high-pitched, slapping around everything in its path. The trail quickly turns to mush. As we veer downward into the valley, rain slices sideways at my face. I squelch my way forward, barely able to make out Big Ed’s outline bobbing up ahead.

He halts at a stump and signals for me to find cover. Another patrol? I duck silently into a clump of trees and press myself against a towering trunk, listening to the sound of my own breathing, and the pummel of raindrops on the leaves around me. I wait for his wood thrush whistle, but instead he appears behind me, silent as a ghost.

“All clear. Their camp is just over that ridge.” He tilts his head in the direction he came from. “I reckon they’re making their way south to Lewis Falls.”

He moves forward again in a half-crouch and motions for me to do the same.

The ground churns beneath my feet, mud oozing over the top of my boots like treacle. I have a bad feeling about how quickly the trail washed out. This could turn into a raging flash floods in minutes. Another limb of lightning lights up the sky, and I tense as I wait for the inevitable crack of thunder. Each step is slower and heavier as I flounder after Big Ed through ankle-deep water, rain sheeting down on me.

He turns around and yells something at me, but it’s swallowed up in another thunderous bellow. He clambers onto a tree stump and gestures upward.
Climb!

I turn and plunge through the goo, now reaching to my knees. I make for the nearest pine and grab onto one of the thick boughs, grunting as I swing myself up. I claw my way up higher, my soaked pack hampering my movements. Exhausted, I flatten myself against the trunk and cast a wary glance at the writhing mud bath below.

A dull terrifying rumble fills the valley. A moment later a wall of nut-brown water, studded with tree limbs and rocks, razes the stump where Big Ed had stood.

My arms are stiff and useless when I finally unwrap them from the tree trunk I’ve been cradling. It’s eerily silent beneath me, quiet as an ocean graveyard. The flood retreated as suddenly as it surfaced, leaving a trail of forest guts in its wake.

“Big Ed!
Big Ed!
”

I call out his name several more times before I shinny down from my perch. My boots sink all the way into the silt left behind. Shivering, I begin ploughing through the mud toward the ridge. After fifty feet or so, I throw off my pack and lean forward on my thighs to catch my breath.

Something flaps in the brush. I reach over to grab it, and my heart stalls.

It’s a cowboy hat, caked in mud, the snakeskin band dangling from it like entrails.

A wave of panic curls around my gut. “Big Ed! Where are you?” I yell until my throat is raw, and then sink to my knees, sobbing silently. I crumple the snakeskin in my fist, and double over with grief.

A foot slams into my stomach and I fall onto my side, sucking for air.

“On your feet!” A bone-crushing hand latches onto me and hauls me upright. “Who are you?”

“Derry Connolly. Don’t hurt me, please,” I gasp, holding my stomach with one hand. I tilt my chin up and squint at my attacker. Dark eyes in a shaved skull, flay me like razorblades. A ragged scar gouges its way from the left corner of the man’s lip to a half-missing brow. Both sides of his long, corded neck are tattooed with lightning bolts and a pair of crossed cleavers. My mind floods with fear.

A Rogue.

“Who’s Big Ed?” The man’s voice cracks like a whip.

I flinch. “My … my dog. The thunder scared him. He … he took off.”

“What are you doin’ out here?”

I squeeze my brows together in what I hope is a forlorn expression. “Sweepers—they found our camp.”

The Rogue studies my face for a minute, and then pats me down. I grimace, violated as much by his lecherous grin as his roving hands. My heart sinks when he pulls my gun from my backpack. He removes the magazine and empties the chamber in one seamless move.

“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to weigh up how much immediate danger I’m in.

The skinhead’s cold, flat eyes meet mine. “They call me Blade.”

He glowers at me, forcing the metal piercings in his brow into a menacing “V.” The jagged scar channels deeper into his cheek.

I take a step backward. I think I know why he goes by Blade, but I don’t ask for confirmation.

“Get your pack on. We’re moving.”

“Where are we going?”

He shoves me in front of him by way of response.

My fear explodes. I’m guessing he’s taking me to his camp. My legs shake with every step. If the rest of the Rogues are anything like him, they’ll show no mercy. Tears prickle my eyes. I force them back, determined not to show weakness.

We trudge for a mile or so beyond the ridge before I hear voices. Blade halts and whistles loudly, and after waiting for three short whistles in response, he marches me forward again. My breath sticks in my throat when several shadowy figures with Glocks and M16s close in behind.

Rigid with fear, I walk mechanically, avoiding eye contact. After a few minutes I chance a glance around. I’m relieved to see a couple of women in the group, although they’re tatted up too, and almost as menacing looking as the men. Most of them have dark beanies pulled down low over their eyes, but I’m guessing they’re skinheads like Blade.

We reach a clearing and I spot the camp tucked up to the left of the path the flash flood has gouged out to the river.

I cast another glance around. Big Ed’s nowhere in sight. I hope he managed to evade the patrol—if he’s still alive.

A tall, thin-lipped man with a graffitied, cleft chin and a tight mustache approaches. He jerks his head in a questioning way.

Blade scowls at me. “Says she was looking for her mutt.”

The thin-lipped man flashes me a cold smile and then yanks my rucksack off my back. He empties the contents onto the ground and kicks at the pile with his steel-toed boot. Blade reaches into the mesh side pocket of my pack and grabs Big Ed’s cowboy hat. I try to snatch it from him, but he tightens his spring-loaded grip on my arm until I writhe in agony.

“Get a load of this, Rummy.” Blade tosses the hat to the thin-lipped man. “Kid was holding it when I found her.”

Rummy walks over to me, and snaps the brim taut in front of my face. “This yours, Butterface?” He cocks his head expectantly, but I take too long to answer. He drops the hat onto my head where it promptly slips over my eyes. I push the brim up with one finger and flinch at Rummy’s steely expression. His thin lips curve into a sneer. “Must be
the dawg’s,
eh?” He throws back his head and howls with laughter. Blade lets out a snort, watching me through narrowed slits.

“Tie her up,” Rummy says. “She ain’t alone. We'll double the patrols.” He snaps his fingers at Blade and walks off.