by S. Harrison
“Good luck, everyone,” the Professor says, his voice slightly strained with effort as he grips the tank and follows Percy with a weighted-down waddle. Jennifer gives us all a nervous smile as she crosses the room and disappears into the dimly lit corridor behind the Professor.
Jonah looks over at Bit. “I’ve switched all the walkie-talkies to channel three. Expect to hear from me in twenty minutes.”
Bit lets out a huge tightly wound breath and nods up at Jonah.
“And, Finn,” he says, fixing a resolute stare on me. “I’ve trained you well. If you find a weapon, take it, and don’t be afraid to use it if you have to. I’m relying on you to keep Bettina and Dr. Pierce safe. I’m relying on both of you,” he says, looking over at Brody.
“I’ll protect her with my life, sir,” Brody says dramatically.
“Be careful,” I whisper earnestly to Jonah. He smiles and nods his head, and as he turns toward the doorway, a sudden wave of affection and concern ebbs through me.
“Twenty minutes, Bettina,” he says over his shoulder as he walks toward the corridor on the other side of the room. “And I’m taking your fire axe, Graham.” Jonah opens a red cabinet on the wall and unhooks an axe from inside. Then, with a positive smile and a confident nod, he turns and ambles into the passage and out of sight.
“Everything will be fine.” Jonah’s voice echoes into the room from the shadows.
I want to believe him; I’m sure we all do. But judging by the looks on everyone’s faces and the bad feeling writhing in my gut, I’m not alone in thinking that the moment we step out of that hatch onto the surface is the moment we all walk straight back into hell.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dr. Pierce collects a walkie-talkie from the trolleys and strides across the lab. “Make sure you all have the equipment that you need,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks off toward the hallway on the far side of the room. “I’m going to make my final preparations. Be ready to go when I’m done. We leave in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll go get our schoolbags to carry the gear,” Brody says to Bit. She nods at him and gives him a little smile as he turns and follows Dr. Pierce.
“So that’s that,” says a perspiring Brent as he anxiously wrings his hands. “Now we just wait until you all willingly march off to your deaths.”
“You can come with us if you like,” I joke as I walk to the trolley and begin sorting through the remaining equipment.
“Hmmm,” Brent murmurs as he lifts his hands up and down, pretending to weigh the options, with a mock pondering expression. “Stay down here out of harm’s way, oooor . . . be turned into cat food by giant robots? That’s a tough one,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“I’m going with them,” says Margaux.
“What?” exclaims Brent.
Bit and I look at Margaux, then at each other. If my look of surprise is anything like hers, then we both must appear just as shocked as Brent does right now.
“Why?” he blurts.
Margaux turns to him. She looks deadly serious and at the same time pensive. “What have you ever done in your life that actually meant something?” she asks solemnly. “When was the last time you did something that really . . . mattered?”
Brent looks dumbstruck. He’s so stunned he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what to say.
“This is the most important thing any of us will ever do,” Margaux says solemnly. “Our lives depend on it. If the plan fails and I chose to stay down here and starve to death . . . then I’m a loser. And Margaux Pilfrey is not a loser. If I’m going to die, I want to die trying, so if it’s alright with you . . . ,” she says as she walks forward to the trolleys and looks stoically at me and Bit. “I’m coming with you.”
Bit smiles admiringly at Margaux.
“Well, holy crap,” I say with an amazed smirk of my own. I may be having a little trouble remembering the last few hours, but I definitely recall how permanently stuck-up and vapid Margaux was at school. I always knew it was a facade, but she never let it drop, not until now. This is a side of her that I’ve never seen before.
“I can fire a gun,” Margaux says bluntly. “I won’t slow you down, and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I can help . . . I’ve decided that I want to help.”
“Well, it’s pretty hard to say no after a speech like that,” I say, frowning bewilderedly at her. “What do you think, Bit?”
“I guess we’ll need to find you a gun when we get to the surface, but, yeah, I think we can use all the help we can get.”
Margaux grins. “Thanks, you guys, and, Finn . . . I’m sorry I took your necklace.”
I frown at her, and my hand reflexively goes to my chest. I can feel my pendant beneath my t-shirt, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You did what?”
Margaux’s eyes go wide. “Oh, um . . . nothing,” she stammers.
I stand there in silence, eyeballing her suspiciously, as Brody jogs into the room with three satchels clutched in his hand.
Brody must sense the change of mood in the room, because as he arrives at the trolleys, he scans all our faces. “What did I miss?” he asks as he drops the empty satchels on top of the slates.
“Margaux is coming with us,” Bit says, still beaming at her. “We’re gonna need another bag.”
“Two more,” says Brent. I can see him struggling with the wheels of doubt that are grinding in his mind as he takes a deep breath, steps up to the trolleys, and gruffly clears his throat. “There’s no way that I’m staying here alone. I’m coming, too,” he says, his voice quivering slightly.
“What about your leg?” asks Bit. “That gunshot wound will slow you down. It’ll slow all of us down.”
“Hey, I’m tougher than I look,” Brent argues unconvincingly. “And besides, the Doc gave me some of his personal stash of pain meds. I can’t feel a thing, and I bet I can move just as fast as any of you.”
Brent turns to Margaux. “I’ll be there to protect you, princess,” he says, lowering his voice an octave and puffing out his chest. It’s so pathetic.
“Aww, baybeeee,” coos Margaux.
He is terrified and isn’t fooling anyone. Well, no one except for Margaux, who grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a deep and awkward-looking tongue kiss.
I grimace and look away from the grappling pair, but the wet, slurping noises they’re making cause my skin to crawl. “I’ll . . . get the satchels,” I say as I stifle an involuntary retch, grateful for any chance to leave the room for a few minutes. I sidle behind the canoodling couple and head across the lab toward the entrance to the passageway.
“The bunk room is down the hall to the left,” Brody says, and I nod him a thanks as I pass by.
I walk across the lab into the passageway and head down the corridor. When I think about it, I actually respect the sentiment behind Margaux’s decision, and a couple extra sets of eyes and ears may come in handy up there. But on the other hand, I can’t help thinking that having her and Brent tag along might also turn out to be a giant mistake. What if they panic and run off into danger? No doubt Brody and I will end up being the ones who have to save them. Either way, it’s their choice and I won’t try to stop them from coming. As long as Bit is safe, part of me doesn’t give a damn if Margaux and Brent live or die.
I arrive at the first door on the left and duck into the submarine-style doorway, wondering where such a cold and callous thought came from. It’s not like me to disregard anyone’s lives so flippantly, even if I do think they’re a pair of elitist douche bags. I push the thought to the back of my mind and look around the room.
Even though it’s quite large, the low ceilings and the rows of metal-frame bunk beds make the space feel cramped. There’s a faint musty smell, as if this room hasn’t been properly used for years. Dr. Pierce said something about this place being a war shelter. I feel for anyone who was forced to spend any considerable length of time down here. I count four rows of five bunks, twenty in all. Each mattress has a pi
llow and a thin blanket on it, and most are tidily made, but as I duck down and scan the lower bunks, I see a few blankets have been disturbed. One bed in the center of the middle row is obviously where Brody emptied out the contents of the three satchels. There’s a lacrosse ball, crumpled fast-food receipts, a stick of deodorant, a couple of notebooks, some pens, a key ring, gum wrappers, and a few other useless things that always seem to gather in the bottom of every bag. There’s even a vaguely familiar-looking tube of lip gloss that I think may be mine.
I walk between the rows of beds toward the one right in the corner, where I see Brent’s and Margaux’s bags hanging from the post of the top bunk. I take them both down and shake their contents onto the lower mattress. Margaux’s ridiculously expensive Jonti Lamoureaux satchel is mostly cluttered with makeup, and Brent’s bag is unusually clean and nearly empty, save for a comb, a notepad and pen, and a lacrosse tournament “Most Valuable Player” ribbon. The fact that he carries that around everywhere he goes is exactly why he deserves to become something a giant robot has to scrape off the bottom of its foot like a dog turd.
I reprimand myself for such a dark thought and yet chuckle to myself as I picture it. I take the empty bags and head back toward the door, but as I’m passing the small heap of satchel scatterings on Brody’s bunk, something on the floor just beneath the bed catches my eye. It must have fallen under there when the other satchels were emptied. I kneel down and pick it up.
It’s a photograph of a young woman. She’s dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and hiking boots and kneels by a campfire at the edge of a river. She’s pretty, with dark, frizzy hair tied back in a ponytail. Freckles pepper her nose, there’s a slight smile on her lips, and her big brown eyes look just like Bettina’s. At a guess, she must have been eighteen or nineteen years old when this was taken, and something about her seems so familiar that I almost feel angry that I can’t put a name to her face. I stare at the young woman, willing her identity to reveal itself from the persistent fog clogging the back of my mind, but . . . nothing comes. I know her face. I’m sure of it. But for the life of me, I just can’t remember where from.
Judging from the physical similarities of the girl in the photo, this most likely belongs to Bit. It could be her sister, or maybe her mother when she was younger, I suppose. I don’t recall Bit ever mentioning a sister, but that’s hardly surprising considering the state of my memory at the moment. Whoever it is, if Bit carries the photo around with her, it must be a cherished keepsake. With one last look at it, I slip the picture into the back pocket of my jeans and head toward the door, still pestered by the annoying fact that the name of the mystery girl in the photo is lingering somewhere on the tip of my addled brain. I try to focus on hearing her name as I scroll through random guesses in my mind. Sarah? No. Mary? No, that’s not it, either. Frustration is setting in, but as I step through the door into the hallway, I actually hear a name whispered faintly from somewhere down the hall.
“Infinity.”
I turn and look down the corridor. They were only fleeting murmured syllables; the voice was barely perceptible, but I heard it. I’m certain it wasn’t just in my head. Then again, the fact that my mind has a habit of playing tricks on me lately isn’t very reassuring, so, just to be sure, I quiet my breathing and walk down the hallway, listening carefully. In the dim fluorescent light, I see a closed door in the right-hand wall twenty feet or so farther down the corridor. I focus all my attention on the door, and all of a sudden an unexpected rising hiss begins growing in my ears, like the sound you hear when you max out the volume on a stereo.
“She has been through a lot today, but she’s coping well, I think,” a muffled male voice says.
I knew I wasn’t imagining things. In fact, the voice sounds so much louder than it did before. Curious, I softly creep along the passage, and as I take a step forward, to my surprise, I can hear the amplified rustle of my clothes against my skin. A gentle draft wisps down the corridor, and I can hear the air moving against the walls. I can even hear the tic-tacking footsteps of a small black beetle as it waddles along a seam in the floor near my foot. I smile at my suddenly enhanced hearing as I slink farther along the passage, and when the voice speaks again, I can hear it loud and clear, as if I were standing on the other side of that closed door.
“All things considered she’s in perfect health,” says the voice. It’s Dr. Pierce. From what I’ve seen, he seems like a quirky old man, but is he actually holed up in that room, talking to himself? The answer to that question is immediately answered when I hear another man’s voice. It’s slightly raspy and distorted, as if it’s coming out of the speaker of a walkie-talkie.
“Good,” the stranger says. “It’s important that she remains unharmed until she’s required.”
Now I’m completely intrigued.
“Yes,” replies Dr. Pierce. “We have a problem. Infinity has insisted on joining us on our little errand.”
“Is there some way you can detain her?” says the man. “We may need her if the initial conduit fails.”
“Of course, that’s why I tried so hard to save her. But I can’t detain Infinity without raising a lot of questions.”
“Infinity should never have been released from Blackstone Manor. At least that way we would have avoided a lot of difficulties,” says the man.
“Well, Major Brogan and his military pals in the boardroom are responsible for that rash decision,” says Dr. Pierce. “But there’s no need to worry. She might even increase our chances of success. Right now I’m more concerned about our other little problem.”
“Ah, yes,” says the other man. “How much does she know?”
“I’m not sure,” says Dr. Pierce. “We need her to repair the damage she did to Onix, so allowing her access is necessary . . . but it’s also very risky. If Bettina gets her hands on any more files, she may unearth some very sensitive details about a particular member of her family. You know who I mean, and we both know that’s who Bettina has been searching for. If she discovers the truth . . . it could jeopardize everything.”
“I’m well aware of Miss Otto’s motives, but once Onix is repaired we can initiate the final stages of Project Infinity and none of that will matter,” replies the man. “Do not fail me, Graham. Today’s disastrous circumstances will no doubt have attracted unwanted global attention by now. I don’t know when they’re coming, but they will. And when they do, they won’t understand what we’re trying to achieve for the future of humanity. They could undo everything. The timing is not ideal, but our hand has been forced. We must do this as soon as possible.”
“I won’t fail,” says Dr. Pierce.
“Good. I’m relying on it. Contact me again when Onix is restored to full working order. I will do it if I’m forced into a corner, but the last thing I want is to completely replace him. That could be very . . . complicated.”
“Yes, it could,” says Dr. Pierce.
I hear a click and some shuffling, then the quiet whine of the metal wheel in the door winding open.
I quickly turn and jog as quietly as I can back down the corridor toward the lab. Who was Dr. Pierce talking to? It certainly wasn’t Jonah or Captain Delgado. Why do I need to be kept safe? What was all that about someone from Bit’s family? And what the hell is Project Infinity? I clearly don’t have enough pieces to make a complete picture of this puzzle, but whatever’s going on, I don’t have a good feeling about it at all. I think I’m gonna have to keep a very close eye on Dr. Pierce, but first, I really need to speak to Bit.
I scoot into the main room with the satchels in my hand as I hear Dr. Pierce step out into the corridor behind me. I stride over to the trolleys, dump the bags onto the slates, and pull Bit aside.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
Bit frowns at me with a look of concern. She can obviously tell that I’m more than a little flustered. “Um . . . OK,” she murmurs. I glance over my shoulder and see Dr. Pierce striding down the hall toward us.
“Not
here.”
Bit looks sideways at Dr. Pierce and seems to get the message. “This way,” she whispers. Bit sets her slate down on the trolleys and heads across the room toward another passage. I fall in step behind her.
Brody looks up from packing some of those useless camping knickknacks into his satchel. “Is everything OK?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” says Bit. “Finn . . . just wants something to eat before we go.”
“I could eat,” Brody says as he turns to come with us.
“No,” Bit replies sharply, and Brody frowns. “I’ll . . . I’ll bring you something.” Brody nods disappointedly and sheepishly turns back to the trolleys as Dr. Pierce walks into the room.
“Ten minutes,” he says, looking at his watch.
“OK,” chirps Bit. “We’re just going to the kitchen.”
“Don’t be long. It’s almost time,” he says, and I throw him a painted smile as Bit and I nonchalantly walk across the lab and into the side corridor. A few feet in, Bit ducks into an open doorway, and I follow right behind her.
Inside the room is a bench table with half a dozen wooden stools around it. Up against the wall, there’s a stainless-steel kitchen sink with cupboards underneath it, and in the corner is a machine that resembles a large, cumbersome photocopier. The words “Nutra-Print 1000” are written across the front. It’s an industrial-size, well-used, and clearly outdated food printer. Maybe antiquated is a better description.
Bit quietly pushes the door closed behind us, winds the wheel, and slides a lever, locking a sturdy bolt into place. Then she walks over to the printer and jabs a few buttons, and it noisily whirs to life. I take a seat at the table, and with a wide-eyed look of expectation, she comes over and sits on the stool beside me.
“What is it?” she asks.
“When I went to get the satchels I heard Dr. Pierce talking to someone, on a walkie-talkie.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It was a man, but I didn’t recognize his voice. At first they were talking about me, how they need to protect me until I’m required.”