“Oh, we’re digging.” He pointed up with one finger. “Or are you deaf as well as ugly?”
The placating voice from earlier spoke up behind him. “Calm it down, fellas. We’re on the same team.”
Thompson stepped forward, leaning close to the man, and said, “Leader sent men to dig in twos. I see four, and I hear two more. What gives?”
The man ignored his question, letting his eyes drift over the faces of the group of Rebels. Gabe lifted a hand and pretended to be scratching at his forehead. The man’s eyes moved quickly on, but stopped when they landed on Bodge.
“The black guy at the back has no cross.”
“He’s with us,” Thompson said, not missing a beat.
Gabe felt Bodge lean into him.
“You’re walking around here with a Regular?”
It was a derogatory term, in Gang eyes, a way of calling those who weren’t part of Gang inferior. In Gabe’s eyes, Bodge was ten times the man any of these would ever be, and he wasn’t even a man yet. When one of the four non-diggers approached, Gabe stepped between him and Bodge, forgetting about covering his forehead.
“We got two Regulars here,” the man said, his voice almost trembling with feral excitement.
That told Gabe they’d be in serious trouble if Thompson and the others weren’t here. And wasn’t that a bizarre thing? To be protected from Gang, by Gang?
“Back up, dickhead,” Evans said, walking from the side of the group of Rebels to stand beside Gabe.
Bodge flinched at the cuss.
The man with the placating voice stepped forward. Like most of the people in the tunnel, he wore a long beard, his hair was crudely shorn, he was lean and sinewy, and so filthy not even a thousand baths would make him clean.
“Come on, fellas. Why are we standing arguing like bitches? We got bigger things to worry about than a couple of Regulars.”
“Like digging a hole to nowhere?” Thompson asked.
The man who’d gone toward Gabe and Bodge moved away from them, switching his attention onto Thompson and speaking in a hopeful tone. “Well now, it’s not a hole to nowhere. It’s a hole to somewhere. Maybe to freedom.”
“Yeah, right,” Evans said.
The smile on Hopeful’s face first faltered, then vanished completely. He was sensing something out of the ordinary here, maybe a threat.
The small, wiry Rebel, the one who looked like he was missing his spectacles, turned to Gabe.
“It’s pretty cramped in here. Why don’t you two head over to the far side of the tunnel there?” He pointed at two of the other Rebels. “You guys go with. No point us all standing in one place, breathing each other’s farts.”
Gabe had thought he seemed out of place when they’d met. Now, he knew why. This man wasn’t brawn, he was brains. He’d formulated a strategy to give the Rebels the upper hand, by flanking the four Gang on either side. He was also putting Gabe and Bodge in a position from where they could flee if, or more probably when, fists began to fly.
Gabe, Bodge and the two Rebels did as he suggested. Bodge positioned himself in the tunnel that adjoined the clearing and peered around the corner.
“Listen,” Thompson said. “We all know you’re only gonna find one thing at the end of that hole, and it ain’t gonna be sunlight.”
“What’s it gonna be?” Hopeful asked.
Thompson splayed his fingers and said, “BOOM”.
Bodge flinched again, and Gabe reached across and took hold of his hand. “It’s okay, buddy.”
“I wanna go, Gabe. Can we go?”
“In a minute.” He listened to the voices in the clearing.
“You’re doubting Leader. You’re defying Leader, even by having those thoughts.” Hopeful didn’t sound so hopeful anymore. He sounded rattled, flustered. Exactly how Gabe thought Thompson wanted him to feel.
“You’re defying Leader, too,” Evans said.
“How so?” Hopeful’s voice was growing high-pitched. He was starting to sound like he was taking air from a helium-filled balloon.
“Leader sent guys out in twos,” Thompson said, “each pair to dig their own hole.”
“We’re just trying to stay alive.” Indignant, embarrassed, afraid.
“You’re defying him, and you’ll have to defy him a lot more if you really want to live.”
Hopeful missed the hint. “What makes you any different from us? There’s eight of you, counting the Regulars. I don’t see any of you digging.”
“And you’re not gonna,” Evans said. “We’re not afraid of defying Leader, and we’re not afraid of you. We’re here to ask you to join us, to help us do what needs to be done.”
“Which is?” Hopeful asked.
“We’re going to the White Wall Chamber, and we’re going to kill Leader. If you decide not to join us, then we’ll have to kill you, too.”
No more words were exchanged. No conversation, no questions, no reasoning. Only the sound of scuffling, of fists flying. Of a man hitting the ground and moaning in pain. Gabe pulled on Bodge’s hand, and they fled.
CHAPTER SIX
BRETT WALKED AND CROUCHED and crawled for two hours before he got his shaking under control. He was determined to be Brett again now, even if it was just in his own mind, but after so many years as Thirty-Nine, his brain was having a tough time getting used to it.
Would his wife call him Thirty-Nine? No, his wife would call him Brett. He had to be Brett again, because he feared his days were numbered. Call it a last act of defiance before the curtain came down on the pathetic mess his life had become.
Leader had had Forty killed without even thinking about it. He could still hear his screams, hearty to begin with, subsiding to groans as the last of the life had been beaten out of him.
If Leader could take the life of one of his followers so easily, then he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the lives of the others, the men he’d sent to dig the bomb-rigged earth above. He was a psycho, a sadist. Had to be. What was even more unnerving was that, in two hours of making his way through the SUICs dark and dingy tunnels, he hadn’t found any active dig sites. Since he’d made it out of Leader’s white-walled compound, the only other sign of Gang had been three explosion sites, where Gang had been, well, exploded.
So much for asking them if they’d encountered Rebels trying to talk them out of digging and into overthrowing Leader. He couldn’t ask body parts that, they had a habit of ignoring his questions. He had to remind himself he was no longer a Burier; his mission was now a grander one. One with the sole purpose of keeping Leader in power, in control. But in control of what? It seemed there were hardly any Gang left, and that was all thanks to Leader’s madness.
Being in Leader’s presence never got any easier. The first time he’d shared the air with Leader had been at his own branding ceremony. When he’d seen that red-hot cross coming at him, fear almost overwhelmed him. Fear was a powerful motivator. The fear of being burned, of feeling the pain as the sizzling gold was forced against his skin and the rock was pushed down onto it, and the fear of Leader, of standing so close to him he could smell him.
Brett had looked into his eyes, and though he was a small man, an aged man, malevolence crackled in the air around him, filling the atmosphere, putting you on edge. In fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, in case he thought it was worth your life.
He held a lighter aloft as he walked. The other two clinked in his pocket. He wouldn’t have to worry about being in darkness, but Leader had given him no water, and he hadn’t eaten for two days. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, his body feeding on what fat he had left to survive. He wasn’t worried about that. He was worried there might be no Gang left. He’d been sent to speak to the Diggers. If he went back and delivered the news that they’d all been blown up, it would probably get him killed. Like it was his fault.
A rat blocked the mouth of the tunnel ahead and he paused, pushing his body against the rough, hot wall. Watching it, waiting for it to make the first move. If it r
an toward him, he’d probably scream, and if he screamed, the ceiling might come down. He’d feared rats even before he’d been sent down under the earth. He’d grown to be terrified of them in the time since. Everything about them made his skin crawl, and he’d had to touch the damn things, eat the stringy, chewy flesh and pretend to like it, because there was virtually nothing else to eat down here, apart from insects, and the small amount of rice they were rationed when Leader wasn’t in the mood to starve them.
He knew some of the Regulars said Gang were cannibals, that they’d eaten those they took during the killing days in the Cotton Cave. To his knowledge, no member of Gang had ever eaten another human. The thought of that was worse than the thought of eating rats, but he would eat rats to survive when there was no rice. He would never eat another human. Never in a million years. Besides, it was written in Leader’s rules: He who eats human flesh shall be stripped of his own. No matter how bad the hunger pains got, being flayed alive would never be worth it. He slapped his leg, and the rat scurried away from him. He followed cautiously, more afraid of the rat than bombs or disintegrating tunnels.
Three days. That was all he had. Three days to figure out who the Rebels were – if there even were any rebels – and take word back. It was impossible, there wasn’t a man in Gang crazy enough to think he could turn on Leader and live to tell the tale, but what else could he do but try? Once Leader had an idea in his mind, there was no changing it. If he marched back into Leader’s compound and told him he was wrong, that the only person intent on destroying Gang was Leader himself, he’d be deader than yesterday.
Maybe he could invent something. That might buy some time. But time for what? Time to let the (probably non-existent) Rebels overthrow Leader? He thought about what a world without Leader would be like and dismissed the notion. If there was a band of Rebels, they would be a small band. There was too much loyalty, too much fear, for Gang to turn their backs on what they’d signed up to. Even if there was a handful of men crazy enough to think they could stage a rebellion, could kill Leader, did he want to be ruled by them? Men who were even crazier than Leader was?
No, he didn’t. He moved through the tunnels quickly, growing to regret Forty’s death as he got deeper into the SUIC. He hadn’t much liked him, or trusted him, but at least he hadn’t been alone. The tunnels were spooky when you were alone and, after five years of having Forty beside him for every corner turn, to push or pull him through gaps he’d otherwise get wedged in, he was unnerved by his surroundings.
Never was that truer than when he noticed a thin stream of water outpacing him on a downward slope and caught the first whiff of the Water Chamber.
He was dying of thirst, and he was coming to a place with a wide, deep pool of water. Too bad there were dead rats, not to mention people, floating in it. To drink it would mean death: a cruel irony.
His pace quickened as he approached the least desirable place in the SUIC. He’d spent much of his time patrolling the tunnels surrounding the Cotton Cave, keeping an eye on things, doing Leader’s bidding. A very mundane existence. But he’d been glad when Leader had decreed there would be no more killing Regulars for sport. Unlike Forty, who’d spent hour upon hour talking about how many Regulars he’d killed, and what he’d done to their dead bodies.
Brett shivered at the memory.
He’d been terrified approaching the Water Chamber the first time. He’d heard it was a horrific experience. Twenty-Five had warned him to keep away from the water, saying there were a thousand corpses floating in it and a million rats around its edge. He knew that was an exaggeration. It had to be; there hadn’t been a thousand men down here, according to some of the old-timers. The thing was, he could deal with a thousand corpses, that wasn’t the problem. It was the idea of a million rats that made him so afraid. The thought of wading through a sea of them, having them run over his bare flesh, sink their nasty little teeth into him, terrified him.
They’d been through there twice. The first time had been horrific but, with Forty beside him, he’d had to portray a persona of confidence. Of unflinching bravery, even though his heart was missing every other beat. There were so many rats he hadn’t noticed the stench. He hadn’t even really noticed the water. They’d pushed through quickly, Forty’s persona of unflinching bravery not quite as polished as his. Coming back through had been easier; they were both too traumatized by their trip into the Gypsum Chamber to feel any emotion other than numbness.
This time, he had to do it alone. He would never do that willingly, but he had to make it through and out the other side, or he wouldn’t stand a chance of finding out the information he needed to save his life.
He held the lighter above his head. Where the reflection of the flame ended, a dark chasm replaced it. He heard the activity of many small feet. He also heard the steady drip of water. Water he knew he couldn’t drink.
He had nothing to burn except his cotton shorts, torn from the pants they’d sent him down in. A lamp might scare the rats into avoiding him but, when he weighed the idea of sacrificing his shorts and walking around naked, he decided not to burn them.
It wouldn’t matter anyway, not if there were a million of the little bastards in here. One scurried past him now, keeping close to the wall, scaring him half to death. And that was just one.
God help me, he thought. God help me.
THE CHAMBER OPENED out in front of him. The light from the lighter didn’t penetrate its farthest reaches, where the water stood waiting to claim its next victim. He took a couple of steps, then froze as a rat ran over his bare feet. He gasped, then let the air out in a warbling scream that swirled up and around him.
Keep moving, breathe, he told himself. But when he took a deep breath, he gagged on the combined stink of stagnant, polluted water and rotting flesh.
He covered his mouth and nose with one hand and moved as quickly as possible, kicking rats away as he went. He had to uncover his face to place a hand on the wall, so he could trace his progress, and he breathed as little as possible, feeling his temples pounding as his frantic heart raced, as his brain flooded his body with chemicals that were like a big neon sign flashing DANGER DANGER DANGER.
He went deeper, seeking only the exit to this place. Gradually, he made out the body of dark water ahead of him.
It was like a dark, starless night sky. He told himself not to look, to focus on the wall and finding his way out, but the wall took him closer to the malevolent black pool, and he glanced at the water, unable to stop himself.
He caught sight of three or four bulky shapes floating in it, but it was the rats that made him hurry. Hundreds of them, at the water’s edge, leaning out so far that they were falling in one after another. He hadn’t heard water dripping on his approach to the Water Chamber, he’d heard rats falling into the dark pool. There was always one more behind the one that fell in, ready to take its place, jostling, pushing, uncaring about the one in front or the one behind.
Finally, thankfully, he found the exit. He rushed through and fell to the ground, the air instantly more breathable thanks to the whoosh of an air hole ahead of him.
It felt like a victory.
Now, he just had to locate some Diggers, find out if they knew anything about Rebels, and take the news back to Leader.
To do that, he would have to go through the Water Chamber again. For now, he thought only of getting away from there.
WHEN HE COULD GO NO longer, Gabe stopped. Bodge had cried and moaned and begged him to stop, for almost two hours, but he knew they couldn’t. They had to get away from the Rebels, had to make sure they didn’t get caught up in the fighting.
That was the reason he ignored Bodge’s pleas, ignored the fact he was almost hopping along behind him now, his ankle too sore to bear weight.
Maybe it was broken, or maybe it was torn ligaments. He repeated a mantra inside his head as they moved through the maze of tunnels: Cruel to be kind. Cruel to be kind.
His intention of saving the fuel in the
one remaining lighter forgotten, he held it above his head, cursing every time it went out, knowing each curse probably made Bodge more afraid, and not caring.
They needed to put distance between themselves and the Rebels. Get to the Water Chamber and through, and on to the Cotton Cave. He had to deliver Soames’s message, let them know trouble was headed their way and that Soames’s dying wish had been for them to rise up, to kill Leader and take control of the SUIC before he destroyed it. And when they did, he could find Soames’s place in the Cotton Cave and locate the gun.
Would he feel safer, more in control, once he had it? He thought so, but that was for later. Now, he had to stop. His lungs were burning, his body was on fire. Added to that, he could smell the Water Chamber. Every inhalation made him more nauseous.
“Thank you, Gabe,” Bodge said, panting.
He thought Gabe was stopping for him. His limited understanding made him think everything was about him. Gabe envied him, envied that he was the center of his own universe.
He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. He stood as close to the air hole as he could, trying to breathe the untainted air that came from above. It was minutes before his breathing slowed, his lungs stopped burning, and he felt calm enough to ask Bodge if he was okay.
“There’s a really bad smell, Gabe.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Gabe laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Maybe the Rebels had lost their battle, or at least some of their men. That could mean Gang was heading back to the White Wall Chamber to tell Leader what had happened, and that meant they couldn’t stop for long.
“My ankle hurts real bad.”
“You’re doing great. You’re really brave.”
“I’m being brave so’s we can get to the Cotton Cave. There won’t be people fighting there too, will there?”
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