At the back of the car, the flight crew from a Vulture hang chained together, arms above their heads, half naked, their uniforms in tatters, their skin pale as chalk. I dart forward and check their pulses. They’re all dead. Some of their heads are twisted, jaws pried apart in hushed screams.
A powerful rumble rocks the tunnel, the deep bass of a siren that vibrates through the tunnels like the cry of some prehistoric beast. We slip out of the car, staring into the shadows.
The siren is followed by a series of clanks and grinds from some poorly oiled machine, mixed with sickening wet squishes and the clatter of snapping teeth. This is made all the more horrible now that I’ve seen the monstrosity behind them firsthand.
For a moment the three of us stand frozen, posed like pale statues long forgotten among these grisly ruins, an eternal look of fear plastered on our faces.
Before we can backtrack, that siren blasts louder than ever. Something bursts through the opening of the tunnel ahead, surrounding us in an instant.
A big blur of creepy.
At least twenty Fleshers, looking much like the one that attacked Digory and me at Infiernos, close in on us from all sides. There are some differences among them—variations in facial structures and the skeletal armor encasing their torsos, and in some of the tools on their protruding appendages. Some are even taller than the one I encountered. But it’s obvious that they’re the same race of thing.
Once in place, the Fleshers’ servomotors lock in place and they freeze, fixing us in their sights. As monstrous statues, they’re more unnerving silent than when they were clanking and wheezing. Their strobing lights capture their ghastliness like nightmare snippets.
“What are you?” My voice echoes down the winding tunnels.
The nearest Flesher’s head swivels in my direction.
Digory steps forward, and I can see the thick cords of muscle on his arms and neck tensing as he readies to pounce. That savage look burns like blue fire in his eyes again. His lips curl into a snarl, which births a low growl. A quick reminder of the brutal ordeal that’s transformed him.
I grab hold of his granite shoulder. “Wait,” I whisper. “There’s too many of them.”
At the sound of my voice, he relaxes. But he still moves his body in front of mine like a shield.
“Easy now, Lucian. If you hold still they might not hurt you,” Cassius mutters behind me.
Their pulsing lights sync into a steady amber glow. I look up at the nearest Flesher. There’s something familiar about his face. It’s not a resemblance to the Flesher we fought at Infiernos—there’s something distinct about this one. Unique. But that can’t be right.
My shoulder brushes against Digory’s. “I don’t know why, but I think I’ve seen this one before.”
Nobody moves. I turn and grab Cassius by the throat. “What’s going on here?”
But he just smiles at me, smug.
“Answer me.” I spit the words at him through clenched teeth.
“Tycho’s been resurrected. You should be thanking me.”
Digory snarls and tears Cassius from me, lifting him into the air.
Cassius glares down at me. “You’re not the only one with a trained Canid.” He shoots the Fleshers a look. “Take them.”
In unison, the Fleshers’ jaws snap open.
“Digory—”
His name has barely escaped my lips when dark blurs burst from the creatures’ throats toward us.
The wind is knocked out of me. Something cold and slimy coils around my body, a wormlike membrane that pulsates, secreting a wetness that seeps into my pores. In seconds, my body numbs and my muscles lock. Some kind of paralytic. I drop to the floor. Luckily, I land on my side. But I can’t feel a thing. I can’t breathe.
“Don’t panic, Lucky.” Cassius’s voice sounds muffled, dreamlike. “It’s not going to hurt you. It’s a neurotoxin designed to temporarily immobilize you for more efficient transport. The fluids being put into your body are feeding you oxygen and circulating it through your system. Uncomfortable, I know. But don’t resist it like your boyfriend’s trying to do.”
As I struggle in vain to move, I catch sight of Digory thrashing on the ground beside me. Whatever dose of this poison they gave us isn’t completely working on him. He’s resisting it somehow.
Cassius walks over to him. “Impressive. It appears the Ultra Imposer Program is quite the success.”
He signals to the lead Flesher.
Snap!
The Flesher’s abdomen pulls apart and an appendage looking like some souped-up version of a neurostim shoots an energy blast Digory’s way.
Don’t hurt him anymore. I want to scream the words at the top of my lungs, but I can only lie here as they ricochet through my brain instead.
Digory’s body spasms, convulsing with seizures, but still he writhes, reaching out his hand toward me even as his movements slow into twitches. His fingertips are just shy of my cheek when he slumps into immobility, staring at me through a cobalt haze.
Cassius stoops beside me and pushes Digory’s hand away, stroking my face with his own hand instead. Even though my skin can’t feel a thing, it’s like a squirming clump of maggots are eating through my brain.
“Sorry I had to do this,” he whispers in my ear.
Then he stands and moves out of my field of vision. “Let’s go,” I hear him tell the Fleshers.
How does he have control over these things? What’s the connection?
But my brain’s too fried. I look over at Digory, willing every muscle to move, to crawl toward him. It’s useless.
I can only stare straight ahead, the chill of the tunnel harsh against my opened eyes, as I’m hoisted into the air by one of the Fleshers, just like Digory and Talon are, and carried off into the labyrinth.
thirty
I’m not sure how much time passes as we move through the tunnels. The journey is a blur of darkness, flashes of light, indecipherable shapes and images. In spite of catching occasional glimpses of Cassius and the still-unconscious Talon, the one image I focus on, which grounds me and prevents me from completely losing my grip on reality, is Digory.
Little by little, I feel the numbness start to lift. At one point I blink against a harsh light.
Daylight.
We’re out of the tunnels. More images flash. Concrete rubble. A broken sign that says Fifth Avenue.
And then the crumbling spires of a ruin that conjures memories of the Priory. Although most of the wreckage we’ve passed is barely recognizable chunks of concrete and glass, the architecture of this one is decidedly different, more like what I’m used to from back home.
As we move through what’s left of a tall, arched doorway, I catch glimpses of the remnants of a massive door. Strange letters are carved above broken stone figures embedded in its surface. Then we’re jostled inside and I panic when I lose sight of Digory. I’m carried down a long aisle surrounded by shards of stained glass, broken statues, and torn pews, past toppled pillars of jagged marble. The whine and purr of the Fleshers’ gears and treads grinds over the debris and echoes through the chamber as we approach what looks to be some kind of altar.
Now that the toxin is starting to wear off, my lungs take in a tentative breath of stale, musty air and I nearly choke on the storm of swirling dust flurries.
Cassius’s face appears just above mine and he reaches out and strokes my hair. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there, Lucky.” He smiles at me. “Open it,” he commands our captors.
No sooner does Cassius move out of the way than I catch sight of Digory again, fidgeting between the grip of two Fleshers. Obviously his body’s resistance to the toxin is markedly ahead of mine. What was it Cassius called it in the tunnels? The Ultra Imposer Program.
What have they done to Digory?
A long glistening pincer springs from the
forearm of the Flesher on Digory’s right and hovers over his neck, zeroing in on his pulsing carotid artery. For a second our eyes connect and I try to flash him a warning look, not sure if my brain’s succeeding in getting the message across to my eyes.
I guess it registers, because Digory gives me a nod and his muscles relax. He slumps in the Flesher’s grip.
But that pincer doesn’t retract.
A hum fills the air, rattling the debris. I’m able to finally shift my head. The floor beneath what’s left of the altar parts and a boxlike chamber rises onto the surface, some kind of an elevator. Unlike the ruined state of the rest of this city, the black and silver surface of the car is pristine, gleaming under the strobing lights of the Fleshers’ instruments.
What the hell is something so technologically advanced and new doing here, buried under New York City’s grave?
The glass doors slide open without a sound.
Cassius movies to stand beside the elevator. “Let’s get them inside.”
In no time we’re herded in, with half of the Fleshers remaining outside since there’s no way we’re all going to be able to cram into the space. By this time, both Cassius and I are able to stand on our own two feet; the paralysis has almost faded.
All the better to feel the sharp edge of one of the Flesher’s sharpened tools digging into the back of my neck.
Then the doors slide shut again and my stomach does somersaults as we drop. My fingers brush against Digory’s until we manage to interlock tips. After what we’ve both been through, I can’t think of too many things we won’t be able to face as long as we have each other.
“I know you think I’m a monster,” Cassius says, shattering the moment. “But maybe you’ll understand once you’ve seen for yourself.”
I’m finally able to dredge up enough spit to coat my parched throat. “I think I’ve already seen enough.” I barely recognize my own voice.
The elevator begins to slow and the blur outside the doors becomes discernible.
And I can’t believe what it is that I’m seeing. Surely it’s got to be the hallucinogenic after-effects of whatever poison they pumped into my system.
The clear tube has descended from the darkness into a vast open area that stretches as far as the eye can see, in every direction. Patches of cottony mist obscure the view as the car plunges through it.
Clouds.
It’s the sky. Or more like four different skies, to be exact. It’s like looking at an entire day, all at once, that’s been carved into four separate pieces. In one direction, the sky’s bright with sunshine, rippling with heat as if it’s the middle of a hot summer day. Directly opposite, it’s almost pitch black, the night sky glistening with thousands of stars that sparkle like gems in perfect synchronicity.
In contrast, the two opposing regions are made up of dawn and dusk respectively, awash in pink, purple, and orange.
I turn to Cassius. “This can’t be real. We’re indoors. Underground. But I’ve never seen holograms on such a massive scale before.”
And interspersed among these fragments are huge, mushroom-shaped pods—buildings with windows and balconies. An entire city growing within the entrails of the dead New York.
But unlike the Lady’s graveyard, this city is very much alive.
And the most shocking part of all is that it’s not just populated with Fleshers. The entire place is teeming with human life.
All throughout this subterranean metropolis people bustle about, strolling down immaculate promenades, cultivating fields using sleek hovercrafts and laser tech, darting in and out of what appears to be a recycling plant. They’re all dressed the same, in stark white jumpsuits with some type of dark band around the arm. I even spot what appears to be a power plant and silos in the distance.
It’s too much to take in. A whole society thriving underneath such ruin, hidden from all of us, even the Establishment. If they knew about this place, they’d have plundered it eons ago and claimed its resources.
But obviously, it’s not a secret from everyone.
I turn to Cassius. “What is this place? And how long have you known about it?”
He nods. “I’m sure you have many questions, Lucky. Be patient. They’ll all be answered soon.”
The elevator finally eases to a stop and the doors part.
Standing several feet in front of us is a small group of the white-clad inhabitants. The one who appears to be the leader is a tall, silver-haired man with piercing gray eyes, probably in his early fifties but possessing the energy and vitality of someone half his age.
His four companions are actually holograms. They look to be mid-to-late twenties, all very trim and fit. Two of them are men—one olive complected like me, the other with short-cropped fiery hair. Both women are pale skinned—one with hair so blonde it almost looks white, the other with hair as dark as a moonless night.
And they’re all smiling at us, which, as unnerving as it is, isn’t half as disturbing as their ease in the company of the Fleshers flanking them, which are equally as grotesque and impassive as the ones holding us hostage.
The leader steps forward. “Welcome to Sanctum. My name is Straton. Dr. Sebastos Straton. My four companions here are taking care of matters at another part of the station and are joining us via uplink.” He extends a perfectly manicured hand to Cassius. “Brother Cassius, so good to see you again.”
Cassius clasps his hand. “It’s great to be back, my friend.” He turns and gestures to Digory and me. “These are my … companions,” he finally says after a prolonged beat.
Straton smiles. “Ah, yes. Lucian Spark and Digory Tycho.”
Surprised, I glance at Digory, who stands stoic, eyes scanning our surroundings as if he’s assessing weak points, escape strategies. But he squeezes my hand firmly, as if he’s sensing what I’m feeling without even seeing my face.
I turn back to Straton, ignoring the grin still plastered on his face. “How do you know who we are?”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve encountered us.” He gestures to the Flesher on his right. The thing’s gears and motors hum to life as it moves forward. The band around its head where its eyes should be comes to life, igniting with blue like the pilot light on a gas burner. Then a three-dimensional image is projected from it, into the center of our group.
I recognize the footage in an instant. Chaotic shots of us running through the canyon on Infiernos, accompanied by sound bites of panting breaths and shouted warnings. Snippets of Recruit uniforms. The memory of my last Recruit training exercise hits me hard. My chest contracts at the sight of Gideon, Ophelia, and Cypress sprinting for their lives, trying to reach the transport. More shots of Digory and me, the camera zeroing in on our silver ID tags, freeze-framing and enhancing the images until our names are clearly displayed.
The image fades.
Straton signals to the Flesher to retreat and takes another step closer. “Once we had you in custody, it only took a few moments for the subject recognition software to cross-check your appearances with the data in our reconnaissance archives.”
I nudge my head in the direction of the Fleshers. “Nice. Your monsters keep a record every time they chase their next meal?”
My words finally succeed in wiping the smug grins off their faces. In fact, they seem mortified, as if I’ve hurt their feelings.
Cassius grabs my arm. “Lucky, it’s not what you think—”
I wrench away. “I think that footage speaks for itself. Besides, are you forgetting the little attack we just went through on Infiernos, that one that kind of wiped out all your friends?” I glance at Straton. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Straton holds up a hand and shakes his head. “It’s all right, Brother Cassius. The young man is ignorant of the truth.”
I shake my head. “All I know is that your lot seems awfully comfortable hanging aroun
d nine-foot-tall monsters that hunt and eat people, and that doesn’t exactly inspire too much confidence on this end. After all, I’m sure they didn’t earn the name ‘Fleshers’ for nothing.”
The redheaded male, who up to now has remained silent like the rest of the holographic participants, clears his throat and addresses Straton. “Perhaps we should be the ones to explain, Sir.”
“Of course. It’s only fitting that it should come from you.” Straton steps aside.
Red turns back to me and his expression is grave. “When we first came here, from that hell above that you call home, we were as young and ignorant as you are and we thought the same as you do now. But the Fleshers are the perfect synthesis of humanity and technology, achieving the perfection the Begetter intended.”
I hold his gaze. “So you basically experimented on hapless victims to create a race of slave drones to serve you.”
The blonde woman indicates the thing next to her. “They’re not our slaves. We coexist. They’re our brothers and sisters. Individuals suffering from terminal illnesses, physical and mental challenges. We gave them a chance to live their lives to their
fullest.”
The brunette nods. “They’re more like our guardians and protectors.”
My eyes bulge and my brain connects the dots. “You were my age, you said, when you came here from where I used to live. You’re … ”
The brown-haired man smiles. “Yes. We’re the remainder of what you refer to as the Fallen Five.”
thirty-one
I’m still reeling from the shock of learning the identities of the four holographic visitors. Before I can press them for more specifics, Straton whisks me, Cassius, Digory, and our Flesher escort aboard a rectangular glider transport for a tour. At Cassius’s request, the still-unconscious Prime Minister Talon is placed in stasis in a medpod and transported to a nearby hospital.
We glide through the city streets, the transport much more fluid than the steam-powered hovercrafts back home. As we wind through marketplaces, outdoor schools, and what appears to be a business district, I can’t concentrate due to the logjam of questions in my throat. Finally I lean forward and speak.
The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) Page 24