Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (10 page)

T
he woman takes a step back
, a perturbed look on her face. When she catches sight of Tucker, her hands fly to her mouth. Tucker barks in response and whips his tail excitedly back and forth. My pulse races wildly. Owen’s photo—could it be her? The woman squeezes between the fish tanks and stumbles toward me, a manic look in her eyes. Her skin’s not so tanned anymore, and her beach blond hair looks darker, but I recognize her face.

She edges tentatively closer. “
Derry?
” It is Derry, isn’t it? You look just like him.” Without waiting for a response, she grasps me by the shoulders, and then falls on my neck, sobbing so loudly that every head in the room turns in our direction. I freeze, unable to move or even form a coherent thought, my flannel shirt soaking up her hot tears. I hug her stiffly in return, my brain jamming at the awful realization that I’m the one who’s going to have to tell her.

She pulls away and scrutinizes me again, an air of urgent expectation in her expression.

A wave of pain arcs through me. I know what her eyes are asking me. She grips my arms, her nails digging in like talons. “Is he with you?”

I slide my gaze sideways, unable to bear the intensity of her emotion. Trout stares at me, wide-eyed with a kindred fear. My throat feels torched. In my head I scream the truth at her, soundless, like a drowning victim underwater. In reality, my lips won’t form the words.

She shakes me, hard, like she’s trying to rattle something loose. “Where’s Owen?” Her voice pitches, and I stiffen, terrified of the pain I’m about to unleash. I don’t want to be the one to tell her. I can’t bear the thought of watching the tiny patch of hope in her face contort in a landslide of grief.

Her eyes rove over me, tiny desperate flicks, raking my frozen expression. She shakes me again. “Where … is … he?” she screams in my face. Tucker barks, and lays a restraining paw on her arm.

“He’s … I think he’s dead, Nikki,” I say, softly.

Her clawlike grip slackens. A guttural sob goes through her body. Her arms drop limply to her sides and she takes an unsteady step backward. She stares at me for a moment, disbelief filtering across her face, before the pain registers. I wait for her to leap at me, or burst into tears, or collapse on the floor at my feet. Instead, the frenzied look vacates her eyes, replaced by a glassy stare that fixes on something over my shoulder. She shudders, as if a departed spirit went through her. “Of course he is,” she says, flatly. “Otherwise he’d have found me by now.” A solitary tear slides down her cheek. “But when I saw you, for a minute I hoped …” She turns away and sinks to her knees next to a fish tank.

“I’m so sorry, Nikki.” I reach down and squeeze her shoulder gently. I can’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth just yet. That he might be a rewired cadaver in a lab by now, that his body might have been incinerated in the Crematorium,
that I left him behind
.

A young, dark-haired woman hurries over and crouches down beside her. “Nikki! Who are these people? What’s wrong?”

Her chin trembles up and down a couple of times before the words spill out. “Owen’s … dead.” She bows her head and sobs quietly into her chest.

“Oh Nikki. I’m so sorry!” The woman slides a protective arm around her and rocks her gently back and forth. She glares at me over Nikki’s head. “Did you have to break it to her like this?”

It’s all I can do to keep my legs from buckling beneath me. I wasn’t prepared for this. I had no idea Nikki was here. All at once the stench of fish and pond water makes me want to gag. I grip the side of a plastic tub. “I’m Owen’s sister,” I explain. “She recognized me.”

Tucker noses his way between us, sniffing like he’s looking for a spot to take care of business. “I got him,” Trout says, reaching for his collar. “I’ll wait for you outside.” I give a reluctant nod and watch him turn and walk away. I understand he’s trying to give us some space, but right now I wish he wouldn’t leave me alone with them. I’m not prepared to face Nikki’s grief, and her friend’s outrage, when I tell them how it all went down.

Nikki sits up and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. She lets out tiny, gulping sobs, like air bubbles popping. “I want to know what happened.” She furrows her brow as if to keep from dissolving in tears again.

My heart slugs against my chest. Will she ever forgive me? Even if I add that I beat myself up every day for leaving Owen to die alone in the Craniopolis? I rack my brain for some way to soften the devastating blow. “Nikki,” I begin. “Before he … he told me to tell you something.” I wring my hands and swallow hard.

She stares at me, waiting, a hollow look in her bloodshot eyes.

“He said to love you is to live forever.”

She gasps, then doubles over, letting out an eerie sound like an elk that’s lost its calf to wolves.

I avert my eyes, sick to my stomach. Big Ed always said hope is a wretched thing to watch someone let go of. I glance around, uncertain if I should follow Trout and leave her with her friend to grieve, or stay and try and comfort her somehow. I shuffle helplessly from one foot to the other, going over possible exit strategies in my mind.

Nikki’s friend puts an arm under her elbow and helps her to her feet. “I’m going to take her home,” she says. “You can talk to her there in private. Follow me.” Before I have a chance to respond, they shuffle off together in the direction of the door.

I fall in behind, treading on elastic legs. There’s no sign of Trout outside the building or across the street. My heart beats like a tattered punching bag inside my chest as I follow Nikki and her friend through the bustling town center. I always knew this day would come, when I’d have to tell someone who knew Owen that I abandoned him in the Craniopolis—that it’s my fault he’s dead. Yet somehow I convinced myself that the Undergrounders from our bunkers would never make it this far south. Somewhere along the line it became easier to believe that than to wake up every day wondering if they’d survived another night on the run.

Ten minutes later, we come to a halt outside a lean-to apartment complex. “We’re here,” Nikki’s friend calls over her shoulder. I drag my feet across the threshold and trudge up the crumbling concrete stairs after them. On the second floor, Nikki pushes open a makeshift door, yanks aside a threadbare curtain and signals for me to follow her inside.

I wrinkle my nose against the odor of mold and decay. “She just moved in here,” the woman says by way of explanation. “No one’s lived in this building since the meltdown. But with so many more Undergrounders arriving every day, some of the singles had to move.”

“Nikki slumps down on a shabby couch, cups her chin in her hands and stares trancelike at the floor.

“I’ll let you two talk,” the woman says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with some soup.” She gestures furtively at Nikki and then leans over and whispers in my ear. “Spare her the gore. Your brother was the only thing keeping her going.” She shoots me another warning look, and then hurries off.

My breath balks in my throat. I try not to imagine how much Nikki will hate me when I tell her. No more than I hate myself.

She wipes her eyes with the palms of her hands and pats a spot on the couch beside her. Her body shudders gently.

My brain fogs over with panic. I sink into the sagging couch beside her and will myself to ignore the pneumatic drumbeat in my chest.

“Tell me everything,” Nikki says, her voice hoarse.

T
he whole sorry
story tumbles out, a guilt-ridden, disjointed confession I’ve played over in my head a thousand times. To her credit, Nikki doesn’t interrupt or press me for additional details. When I’m done relaying every excruciating moment of the worst day of my life since Ma died, I lace my fingers together in my lap and wait for her reaction. Surprisingly, she doesn’t scream obscenities at me, or slap my face, or sob hysterically on my shoulder again. Instead, she stares at the same spot on the floor in front of her for so long that I chance a sideways glance to make sure she’s still breathing.

“I tried to claw my way out of the Hovermedes and go back for him, Nikki,” I say, “but Mason stopped me.”

She turns to me, her marble features oddly composed. “You did the right thing,” she says, laying a cold hand on mine. “It was what he wanted.”

“Yes, but—”

She squeezes my hand in a vice-grip. “I’m going back with you.”

“What? To the Craniopolis?” I choke out the words, hoping I misunderstood.

She slides closer to me. Her voice drops. “Like you said, you didn’t see him die. You don’t know for sure. Won told you he was still breathing when your ship left.”

I stare into her glistening eyes, my heart breaking for her. “Don’t torture yourself.
Please
, Nikki.” I shake my head despondently. “I’ve done those
what-if-he’s-alive
laps in my brain until I felt like my head would explode.”

Her jaw quivers. She stands and wobbles forward. She scratches at the frayed arm of the couch for support, but the look she gives me is steely, numbing me into submission. “You can’t stop me. Jerome’s going to need his best snipers to go up against the Sweepers. I’m the one who trained them.”

I breathe slowly in and out, my blood pounding in my veins. I don’t doubt it for a minute. Owen told me Nikki’s father was an expert marksman—a member of an elite fifty-meter rifle prone team before the meltdown. She won’t have any trouble convincing Jerome to let her be a part of the mission. And I can tell by the look on her face that I won’t be able to talk her out of it.

Her friend reappears in the curtained doorway, laden with a steaming pot of soup. “Something’s up,” she says, frowning. “Jerome’s called some kind of emergency meeting with the Undergrounders and riders.”

The news slugs me back from the edge of oblivion. I vault up from the couch. “I’m supposed to be at that meeting. I have to go.” I turn to Nikki. “Will you be all right if I leave you for a bit with your friend?”

She blinks at me, catlike, then takes a step toward me. “I’ll come with you to the meeting.”

The woman sets down the pot and gently guides Nikki back to the couch. “That’s not such a good idea. You’ve had a terrible shock. You should stay here and rest for now.”

“We’ll talk later,” I say, hurriedly. I nod my thanks to her friend and exit the room, my heart filling with trepidation. The mission to overthrow the Sweepers wasn’t supposed to involve either Nikki or Jakob, but it looks like I might have to reconcile myself to bringing them both.

Inside the courthouse, armed men and women cluster in small groups, presumably waiting for Jerome’s arrival. At the back of the foyer, standing beneath a broken wall sconce, I spot Jody and Ida deep in conversation with several other riders. I immediately make a beeline for them.

“Where have you been?” Jody asks impatiently. “Jerome’s been looking for you.”

“I bumped into someone I knew from one of the bunkers up north. Didn’t Trout tell you?”

Jody shrugs. “Haven’t seen him.” She turns to one of the other riders. “Tell Jerome she’s here.”

I glance around the foyer, scanning the faces, but there’s no sign of Trout, or Tucker, anywhere. I want to believe they’re somewhere in the crowd or already seated inside, but I can’t ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach. Trout’s a bloodhound when it comes to checking out anything that doesn’t add up. What if he went off looking for the superconductor by himself? He might have gotten into an altercation with one of the guards. A twinge of apprehension goes down my spine. He’s curious to find out what exactly it is that Jerome has to trade. If he sticks his nose in somewhere he shouldn’t, he could stir up trouble. There are still so many unknowns here.

I don’t see Sven either, but then he’s been assigned a shift to guard Rummy and Won, so he may not show for this meeting. Jakob’s still off helping Izzy look for her brother, and trying to find out what happened to his parents, so he won’t make it. Looks like I’m on my own.

The buzz of voices in the foyer dies down when Jerome suddenly appears in the main doorway. “Grab a seat, everyone,” he calls out. “We’ll get started in a minute.” The Undergrounders file silently inside. I peer at all their faces as they go by, but Trout’s not among them.

Jody briefly consults with Jerome and then directs the riders into the front rows in the main courtroom. I’ve noticed there’s a subtle balance of power between those two that they’re careful to observe. It reminds me of what I have with Trout. He’s proven to be a rock so far. I hope nothing’s happened to him.

I scan the crowd to get a rough estimate of how many are present. Close to two hundred in all. I study their strained faces, mouths clenched tightly. No doubt they’ve heard rumors of what’s afoot. But they don’t know yet the full horror of what awaits them in the Craniopolis. A lone Undergrounder leans against the back wall, arms folded, ankles crossed, chewing intently on something. I pull a few shaky breaths together. These are the skeptics I need to convince to throw their weight behind the mission. If I can persuade them that we can defeat the Sweepers, the rest of the city will follow. I make my way to the front of the room with Jerome, and sit down on a rickety chair behind a worn oak table facing the crowd. A suffocating silence descends.

Jerome leans over to me. “You lay out the plan for them. If they don’t bite, I’ll break the news about the toxicity of the superconductor. Once they realize we can’t stay in the city indefinitely, they’ll rally behind us.”

W
hen I finally stand and
face the Undergrounders and riders, it’s almost a relief to unburden myself of all the atrocities I saw inside the Craniopolis. I give them the raw, unedited version, not holding back on any of the disturbing images that have haunted me every night since. “Child deviations are growing up there, just like Jerome did,” I say, “with no idea there’s another world out here. Undergrounders will die in the name of science, wired to the Sweepers’ circuitry like grisly puppets. We have to do something to end their suffering.”

Faces taut with shock, they listen in silence until I broach the idea of recruiting subversives to help us. A ripple of protest goes around the room. Murmurings of discontent. Whisperings of
The Ghost
. Boots shuffle in place, sharp words are exchanged. I hold up my hand to dampen the rising tension in the room.