He was hauled to his feet and marched back, where he was placed in front of Bodge. The kid had ignored his warning to escape. He stared into Gabe’s eyes now, a terrified expression written across his features, pleading silently with Gabe to do something.
“Don’t even think about doing anything stupid,” a gruff voice said from behind him.
He glanced back. The man was taller than him and muscular. Not as tall and muscular as Bodge, but big enough to do him some serious damage. He’d picked up the rockknife as he marched Gabe back, and now he held it out, pointing it at Gabe.
“What’s your name?” Gabe asked, trying to delay the violence he expected imminently. He figured the response would be a number, an impersonal tag placed on him by Leader, a man who’d sent him to dig until he blew himself up. The answer surprised him.
“My name is Thompson. What’s yours?”
“Gabe, my name is Gabe.”
They rounded the corner then, and he saw that the tunnel ahead was blocked by large chunks of rock.
Thompson shoved him in the small of his back. “Get in there and start digging, or we’re all gonna die here.”
Gabe fell to his knees with Bodge beside him, and they tried to dig. Thompson and the other man appeared either side of them, pulling small chunks of rock from the pile and throwing them over their shoulders. It quickly became obvious their efforts were futile, there were slabs of rock all four of them pulling together couldn’t shift. They had only one option: to enter the Gypsum Chamber.
THERE WAS SOMETHING strange going on. The man had said his name was Thompson, not Forty-Six or Seventy-Nine. When they joined Gang, they referred to themselves only by number, never by name. Using their actual names was an act of defiance, one that would get them killed if Leader knew about it. He wasn’t a man to stand on ceremony. He was a man of swift, brutal action.
Now, Thompson spoke to the other marked man. “Evans, we gotta get through this cesspit. You good to go?”
“Yeah, T. I’m having the time of my life.” He’d wedged the rockknife he’d converted into a rocklamp into a crevice while they tried to dig. Now, he held it again.
“You guys better come with,” he said. His voice was much gentler than Thompson’s. Not angry or threatening.
Gabe went to Bodge’s side. “You okay?”
Bodge nodded hesitantly. “I think so.”
“None of us are gonna be okay unless we get through this cave,” Thompson said.
Bodge looked at Gabe with wide, fearful eyes, and he whispered, “It’s okay. We have to go through here to get to the Cotton Cave.”
“Are these men gonna hurt us?” Bodge whispered back.
“Hell, we ain’t gonna hurt you,” Evans said. “We’re trying to help you.”
“Let’s move,” Thompson growled.
“Wait,” Gabe said. “What do you mean, you’re trying to help us?”
“He means what he says, now move, unless you want us to change our minds.”
“No.” Gabe held up a hand. “I want to know what’s going on here.”
“Gabe, I’m scared.”
“Hush, Bodge. It’s okay.” He fixed his stare onto Thompson. “Why are you using your real names? Gang use numbers, not names.”
Evans and Thompson looked at one another. Thompson nodded.
“We’re not Gang anymore,” Evans said. “We can’t get the mark off us, but we won’t blow ourselves up to satisfy Leader. That fool couldn’t care less about us, or what’s left of his gang.”
“You turned your back on them? On him?” Gabe knew the question was loaded with dangerous connotations for these men. If they were being truthful, they were as good as signing their own death warrants. But then, he mused, going along with Leader’s wishes would just as likely get them killed. Gang was no longer a safety net down here, it was a ticking bomb. Literally.
“We’re gathering others who feel like we do, so we can attack Leader’s compound. Once he’s dead, the digging will stop, and we’ll be safe.”
“You don’t think his plan could work? You don’t want to escape?”
“Where you been the past few months? About half of Gang are dead already, because of Leader. It’s not a plan, it’s a suicide mission.”
Evans spoke up. “Everyone knows it won’t work, but most men wearing the cross are scared to go against orders. They’d sooner die than defy him.”
“And you think you can change that?” Gabe sat down on a boulder.
Evans crouched next to him, coming to his eye level. “We already are, man. There are more of us.”
Gabe didn’t respond. He was hearing what Soames had predicted: the seeds of rebellion.
“You should join us,” Evans said.
Thompson nodded. “Safest thing to do.”
“We can’t,” Bodge blurted out. “We got our own plans.”
Gabe looked at Bodge and shook his head. He didn’t want to reveal they were doing a favor for Soames, the man was Gang’s mortal enemy. It didn’t matter that Soames was dead; if they told the marked men in front of them the truth, they might still be attacked.
“And what might those plans be?” Thompson asked.
Gabe decided to reveal part of the truth. “We’re headed to the Cotton Cave. We have to deliver a message for a man who was killed back there.”
“Who?” Thompson asked.
“Does it matter? It’s the truth, and we’d be useless to you anyway. This guy has a broken wrist and a busted ankle. Even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t fight. Look at him.”
The three men studied Bodge. He looked down at the ground.
“I promised I’d take care of him.”
“Ain’t that sweet?” Thompson said to Evans.
“Lot sweeter than six men taking on forty,” Evans answered.
“I told you,” Thompson barked, “we’ll find more on the way back.”
“We said we were gonna help these guys, so let’s help ‘em.” Evans turned to Gabe. “If you make it to the Cotton Cave, maybe you could spread our message, get some of the men there to help us out?”
“I’ll try,” Gabe said, but he knew that would probably never happen. What Gang had done to the men of the Cotton Cave had never been forgotten, not when he was there, and probably not since. Terrible wrongs couldn’t possibly have been righted, not simply by letting them live in peace and sharing the rice that was lowered in. And Gang had broken the deal when they’d killed Adams and caused Soames to leave for good. Maybe these two men had been part of that crew. The crew that had ultimately cost Soames his life. If the Regulars in the Cotton Cave went along with Soames’s plan, they would be fighting anyone wearing a cross on his forehead, not fighting alongside them.
“Okay,” Thompson said with a sigh and a shrug of his square shoulders. “We’ll help you through the Gypsum Chamber, but after that you’re on your own. We got work to do. Pick up your things before we change our minds.”
Gabe grabbed the bag with the rope, water, rice and bowls inside. “Come on, Bodge. These guys are going to help us.”
“You sure?” Bodge whispered.
Evans laughed. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”
They went back down the tunnel, being careful as they walked toward the entrance to the Gypsum Chamber.
“Careful, Bodge,” Gabe said. He held up a hand to slow Bodge, and he gripped it like a child crossing the road with its mother.
The heat from the Chamber was thick, and Gabe felt like he was being strangled. He wanted to take a deep breath, to calm himself down, but dared not – he knew it might knock him out.
Thompson addressed them all. “Once we get in there, you can’t fool around. If you don’t stick close, or if you stop, you’re on your own. You got it?”
“We got it,” Gabe replied.
“Let’s go,” Evans said.
They stepped into the Gypsum Chamber. Gabe sensed wide-open space above him. He couldn’t see a whole lot, the lamp didn’t cast light very far, but he
didn’t need to. He could sense, ahead and to his left, the huge crystals towering over him, making him feel tiny, insignificant. He kept his hands in front of him, afraid of blistering them by touching anything.
“Hold on to me, Bodge.”
“I need to pee.”
“When we get out the other side, you can pee. Or, if you need to go badly enough, just pee down your leg.”
“No way.” Bodge’s voice was laced with fear, his grip tight on Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe glanced back and saw the lighter’s flame reflected in his eyes.
“It won’t take long, I promise.”
Bodge gripped him even more tightly. “Who we delivering a message for? Soames?”
“Yes,” Gabe said, knowing now wasn’t the time to talk about this. Whether Bodge thought he’d tricked him into agreeing to go to the Cotton Cave or not, they were in danger of dying within ten feet of where they stood. He’d have to explain why he hadn’t told Bodge later, once they were safe.
“Head to the right,” Thompson said, his voice muffled due to a hand covering his mouth. They did just that as they advanced, Gabe dragging Bodge along to keep up with Thompson and Evans. Then they were walking through the center of the huge, sword-like crystals, down a narrow path that Gabe thought must have been carved out by Gang excavating the materials they needed to build that great white wall opposite the Cotton Cave. Or could it? Gang hadn’t come in this far, had they? Maybe some of them had, and that was what killed them.
He looked down at the ground, cautious of stumbling into any holes. He glimpsed bones out of the corner of his eye. The leftovers of Gang? He thought it was likely, but of course, the only way to identify them was by the cross on their foreheads, and the crosses had long since rotted away on these men. The bones were undisturbed though, and that told him even the rats didn’t come in here. Now, he knew why he’d seen virtually no rats earlier. With the tunnel past the Gypsum Chamber blocked, the depths of the SUIC were quickly becoming a rat-free zone.
Evans and Thompson kept moving ahead of him, not slowing, not turning to look back, and Gabe pulled Bodge along, terrified of the tight grip relaxing and letting go, because that would mean the conditions had got to him, and that would mean he’d broken his promise to take care of him.
But oh god, the heat. It was like being in a foundry. If there was such a thing as Hell, it wasn’t as hot as this. His whole body was wet with sweat. It rolled down his back, dripped off his chin, soaked the hair on his chest. It stung his eyes. It tasted salty on his lips. He thought about the bones. How long had it taken those men to die? Twenty, thirty minutes? He hadn’t seen clothes. Had they been naked? It was like standing on the surface of the sun, and he could feel his internal organs cooking. To his left and right, he knew the crystals – many of them much larger than him – grew at every angle, in every direction.
As he sensed the space around him growing smaller, he heard voices somewhere up ahead.
“Keep moving,” Thompson yelled. His voice spiraled away above them, bouncing off the walls before echoing back.
He shook his head, the action only making him dizzier. Then, tugging on his hand, and he staggered, just as the light in Thompson’s hand went out.
Evans prompted him again. “Keep moving. We’re halfway there.”
Halfway? Only halfway?
“I heard voices,” he said, breathing heavily, trying not to pass out. Forcing one foot in front of the other. Pushing on through the heat that felt like cement in his throat. Bodge was in front now, tugging on his hand relentlessly.
“Don’t worry,” Evans called back. “They’re with us.”
He felt a pang of fear at that statement, but it was too late to turn back. There was only death waiting behind. They’d never make it back past the crystals. No, they had to make it through, to the safety on the other side.
But who did the voices in the distance belong to? Thompson’s and Evans’s disaffected army?
As he felt his knees weaken and buckle beneath him, he was suddenly floating. No, not floating. Bodge had picked him up, without concern for his broken wrist.
As he lost consciousness, he knew one thing: Bodge had probably saved his life again.
WHEN HE CAME TO, HE wasn’t immediately afraid. He was angry. He’d promised to protect Bodge, but if it had been down to him, they’d have perished inside the Gypsum Chamber. They’d be lying there now, waiting to become skeletons like the ones he’d seen.
Bodge had saved him, and Thompson and Evans had saved them both, leading them through undoubtedly the most dangerous place in the SUIC.
He blinked, his vision blurred. His head was pounding, his right eye throbbing like someone had fired an arrow through it. His surroundings gradually came into focus, and he sat up.
The first face he saw was Bodge’s, grinning down at him.
“You’re okay.” He turned away. “Everyone, he’s okay.”
“Everyone?” Gabe looked around and saw half a dozen sets of eyes focused on him. They all had the Gang mark above them.
“What is this? You’re taking us prisoner, is that it?”
Thompson stepped forward. “You really need to work on that paranoia. Didn’t we just save your life?”
The first sentence had been spoken in what sounded like a friendly tone, but the second? Well, the look on his face had morphed into anger and annoyance, presumably at his ingratitude.
Gabe wanted to run, to grab Bodge’s big hand and hightail it out of there. He knew he didn’t have the energy to make it very far, and he knew Bodge would likely freeze, paralyzed by fear or incapable of running on his busted ankle.
One of the group stepped forward. “You’re not in any danger from us. I’ll prove it.” He collected the rockknives Thompson and Evans had taken from them and put them in Gabe’s bag.
Gabe looked him up and down, noting that he was small and lightly built. He squinted at Gabe, like a man missing his spectacles. The others looked tough, but this guy looked like a geek.
“Who are you?”
“Ball. I used to be Seventy-One. Now, I’m Ball again.” He touched the Gang sign on his forehead as he stepped back into the crowd of men.
The others said their names – Connor, Vincent, Madeley – all proud, defiant. They were no longer just numbers, subhumans using violence and intimidation to fit in. They were people. Humans.
He turned and found Thompson’s gaze on him. “Thank you,” he said, and Thompson nodded.
“Don’t mention it.”
A voice at the group’s rear spoke up. “We need all the help we can get. Ain’t that right, Thompson?”
“It is, but these men won’t be joining us. They have a mission of their own to take care of. We just made sure they got through the Gypsum Chamber, so they have a chance of achieving that mission.”
Gabe expected to hear dissenting voices at the revelation; Thompson and Evans had risked their lives to help people who had no intention of returning the favor. People who had no desire to fight Leader.
There was only silence though, until the same voice spoke again.
“So, this is it? Six of us?”
“We’ll find more. Every time one of those bombs explodes is another chance for a survivor to see that Leader doesn’t care whether they live or die. A chance for them to come around to our way of thinking.”
“Which is?” Gabe asked.
Ball and Thompson moved forward at the same moment, placing themselves beside Gabe. He felt a pang of fear in his gut.
“Which is that it’s time for us to end Leader’s reign down here. Over us, over what’s left of Gang.”
“How are six of you going to do that?”
“Good question.”
For the first time, he saw what looked like fear in Thompson’s eyes.
“We’ll try to find others along the way, persuade them to join us. If we can’t persuade them, we’ll kill them.”
Bodge straightened. “Are you going to kill us?”
Thompso
n grinned. “Only if you’re on Leader’s team.”
“We’re not,” Bodge said hastily. “We’re not on no one’s team.”
Evans looked at Gabe. “You sure you won’t change your mind? Madeley’s right, we need all the help we can get.”
“We promised to deliver a dying man’s message, and that’s what we intend to do. We’re grateful for your help, but we can’t join you. Maybe once our message is delivered we can help you, but until then, we need to keep moving.”
Thompson extended a hand, and Gabe shook it.
“You deliver that message of yours, then find me. Help me kill Leader, and I’ll do what I can to give you whatever you want.”
Gabe nodded, but he knew Thompson could never give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was freedom. His imagination stretched beyond the confines of the SUIC, to the real world above. When he’d spoken of helping the Rebels after their message had been delivered, he hadn’t meant by fighting, or killing Leader. No, by delivering their message, sympathetic Regulars might decide to help them, and while they fought for dominance over the SUIC, he would look for a way out.
For a way back to his son.
CHAPTER FIVE
ONCE, HE’D BEEN BRETT Birtles. Plain old Brett Birtles. Just trying to support his wife and put enough aside that they’d be able to afford a kid. In the post-Cascade world, this had proven impossible. They’d been poor. Poorer than poor. Getting through one day at a time, steadily building debt rather than savings.
Working for the World Alliance Council was employment, sure, but it was never going to make him a wealthy man. His wife was hot, too. She could take her pick of any man, even a senior World Alliance councilman, if she pleased.
He’d thought and schemed, hell, even prayed he’d get promoted, so he could earn enough to feel confident she wouldn’t leave him for someone better. If they could have a kid, she’d be locked in. But the standard by which people were permitted to bear children in 2150 was a number in the bank, and his number had never reached a quarter of the amount required for him to qualify to come off the contraceptive injections.
Two Miles Down Page 11