“What do you mean ‘I’? What happened to ‘we’?” He motions his hand back and forth between us.
I return to the blueprints. “Just go with me on this.” I point to the manhole just outside the building. “I wait for him here. When I see him coming, I’ll make sure he sees me too. Then I’ll jump in the manhole and run to this one, where you’ll be waiting to pull me out.”
“And then I’ll kill the Canine when he comes through? I don’t get it. It won’t give me any more time than if you were to run on the street toward me.”
“I’m not looking for more time. I’m trying to make the Canine disappear.”
“By trapping him in the tunnels.” He considers this for a moment then says, “There’s a chance the Canine will have a tracker on him so even if he goes into the tunnel, the Institute can still find him.”
“I’ll take that chance. Besides, it’ll be a dead body they find.” I cross the room and open the door.
“How can you be so sure? Junks could be on the other side of the city.”
“Not when I’m finished. In a couple of hours, the tunnels will be drowning in Junks.”
This is such a bad idea,” Tank says, while he lowers down another bucket of rotten meat into the manhole.
I’m not looking when I take it and almost drop the foul mess of unrecognizable animal parts, but I manage to steady it again. My heart’s pounding, and my head is on a swivel, always on the lookout for approaching Junks. This is my fifth bucket of slop from the food recycling plant just down the street. Already the tunnel smells of something dead and bloated. I quickly walk a short distance past the manhole and dump the bucket onto a growing pile of rancid meat. The tunnels are much nicer here than they were in Boston, if it’s possible for a tunnel to be considered nice. They are made entirely of concrete with ceilings twice my height and even include lights every few yards or so. A lot of them aren’t working anymore, but any amount of light in a place like this can sure comfort a girl who’s stupid enough to climb into a Junk-infested tunnel. My only complaint, if I’m allowed to have one, is that the space is too narrow; my arms can’t stretch out all the way before the walls stop them.
“How do you know Junks won’t get you first?” Tank asks as he hands me another full bucket.
“I don’t, but I figure the first one dropping through this hole has the advantage.” I keep talking while I move to empty more rotten slop. “When the Canine or any of his buddies come after me, Junks will have to get through them to get to me. By then, I fully plan on being at the other manhole where you’ll be pulling me up. And as soon as I’m out, you seal the tunnel.”
“What about this entrance? Who’s going to close it?”
“No one. Junks will make sure that no one’s getting out this way.”
“I just wish I could fit in there,” Tank says. “If anything goes wrong—”
“It won’t.” I accept another bucket and walk down the narrow tunnel, feeling strangely deflated. “I hope,” I whisper and add the congealed contents to the growing pile of gruesome guts. My plan had seemed like a good one when I came up with it over an hour ago, but the more I think about it, the more I see its fatal flaws. The only reason I haven’t called the whole thing off yet is I can’t think of a better solution. All I know is I can’t let the Canine track me to where Max and the others are hiding. And even though Tank still has enough power on his wind gun for one more blast, we don’t know how many Primes might be traveling with the Canine, and we can’t guarantee they will all be standing close enough together for the gun to have any effect anyway.
Tank lowers more garbage gruel. I wish New York City had more people sensitive to the HOPE movement for us to turn to, but it doesn’t. Of all the states, Tank tells me it has the least, which makes me wonder why my father chose to meet us here and not somewhere else. Regardless, our lack of friends makes it so I have to turn to our common enemy—Junks. They will unknowingly help me. Or eat the flesh off my body.
A faint sound, like the rustling of steps through dirt, comes from down the tunnel. My heart stops for just a moment, and I suck in air to get it beating again. They’re here. I hurry back.
“Up, up, up,” I say, reaching toward Tank. I can’t see anything, but the rustling grows louder.
Tank scoops me up and pulls me through the manhole. I’m in such a rush that I’m kicking my legs as if doing so would help me get through faster. As soon as I’m out, my flailing legs knock over the barrel of remaining rancid food. It spills everywhere, splashing upwards and onto my pants.
“No!” I say and brush at my legs, but the smelly liquid has already absorbed into my sweats.
Tank unzips his backpack and removes a small cloth from the first aid kit and blots at my pants. “This isn’t good.”
“As long as I’m fast, it’s not a big deal.”
Tank straightens, his face scrunched into a worried look.
“You should probably get out of here,” I say, acting like it’s no big deal that I smell like Junks’ favorite food. “The Canine could show any time.”
“Right.” He looks down the road, his chest filling with air.
“I will be fine. I’ll communicate with you the entire time. Go.” I touch the small black earpiece behind my ear. At least we can talk to each other. If only we had enough of them that I could talk to Colt and ask about Max.
“Let me at least give you this.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out the wind gun. “If you get into trouble, use it. It will buy you some time.”
I take it from him and tuck it in the back of my pants. “Thanks.”
“We’ll give it a few hours. If the Canine doesn’t show up, then we’ve got to move on.”
“I’m not going back to Max until I know we can’t be tracked.”
“Let’s just see what happens before we have that conversation.” He pats me on the back. “See you soon,” he says and jogs away.
I watch him until the darkness swallows him entirely, leaving me alone. The street is quiet and still. I don’t like it. There should be sounds of life somewhere in the city: a dog barking, the scurrying of a rat, a horn blaring, but there’s none of that. It’s like the city is holding its breath, like the way a person would just before witnessing someone suddenly jumping from a high cliff.
A single streetlight not far away provides some light, but it’s not comforting. Instead it casts shadows all around, making me worry that something might be hiding inside, watching me. I hate the unknown. I would rather face a twenty-foot monster than a mouse concealed by darkness.
A gurgling noise from underground replaces my current gloom. I get on my knees and firmly plant my hands on the outside of the manhole so I can lower my head and look inside. Three Junks are tearing at the rotten meat, eating it so fast they often have to stop to keep from choking. It won’t be long until more Junks come.
I straighten and walk to the side of the street to hide myself within the shadows where I won’t feel so vulnerable. The Canine will find me regardless. No need to stay in the light feeling like an exposed deer in headlights.
“You okay?” Tank’s voice says in my ear.
“I’m good. A few Junks have already arrived. They’re downing the food as if it’s candy.”
“Good.” He’s silent for a moment, then, “Remember what we talked about. If the Canine doesn’t show up before the food runs out, we have to move.”
I glance up into the night sky. A few stars twinkle, their light going off and on as if they can’t make up their mind whether they want to be light or dark. “We’ll talk about it later.” He doesn’t say anything further and neither do I.
Time passes. Deathly slow. A couple of hours at least. I’ve been alone before, sometimes for days while I was out hunting in the backcountry of Maine when my father was able to stay with Max, but this is so different. I was the hunter then, in a position of power, but now I’m the prey, weak and vulnerable. And the willing prey at that. No animal I know of does this.
I want to run. It’s a natural response for prey to ensure their survival, but it’s not my survival I’m worried about. This thought gives me courage, and I step out of the darkness and into the light. I don’t stop moving until I’m standing in front of the open manhole, concealing it from whoever’s out there. Beneath me are the faint sounds of what could possibly be dozens of Junks.
The Canine appears first, or the silhouette of him anyway. I know it’s him by the way he moves: less human and more animal. He’s slightly hunched over, his arms arched at his sides on account of massive biceps. I almost say something to Tank through the earpiece, but decide against it.
“Looks like you finally found me,” I call, though I probably could’ve whispered it and he would’ve heard. Movement within the manhole gets my attention, and I glance down. There are two Junks looking up at me with yellow, blood-shot eyes; their faces are covered in bits of torn flesh and blood. I quickly glance away to keep my eyes on the Canine, but I’m worried. Why are those Junks not eating? I need them away from the opening. My brain works several scenarios, but it’s my nose that solves the problem first. The smell. I look around at the spilled contents of the leftover stinky sap. The Junks can smell it. The fetid food below must be getting low.
“You made this too easy,” the Canine says, his voice deep and coarse-sounding like he just gargled gasoline.
“One thing I am not is easy,” I say.
The Canine looks around as if expecting others to suddenly appear.
“There’s no one else,” I say. “I’m here alone, but I can’t say the same for you.”
Movement to my left catches my attention. There’s a figure swaying in the darkness, almost weightless as if it’s a body hanging from the gallows. A low hissing sound follows. I think it may be a Serpen, a human with snake DNA. I don’t let myself think of the severe consequences this could mean, especially when a third figure appears to my right.
It’s a woman, mostly normal-looking with long, dark hair and pale skin, but her eyes are all-black. No whites to be seen. I think she’s a Rhine, or possibly a Trix. It’s hard to tell without seeing her up close, something I definitely don’t want to do, especially now that she’s pointing a tranquilizer gun directly at me.
“We prefer to work alone,” the Canine says, “but Ebony doesn’t want any mistakes. We’re taking you back tonight. You can come willingly or, my personal favorite, fight.”
His use of the word we confuses me. Does he mean him and the other Primes with him? I inch closer to the manhole, despite the Junks below. Just beyond the Canine, a shadow shifts. The movement is familiar, but it disappears before I can place it. How many more Primes are hiding in the shadows?
“I bet it makes you feel real tough to fight someone like me,” I say.
He snorts. “I don’t do it to feel tough. I do it to spill your blood, one of the many benefits of my job. There’s nothing better than the taste of an Original’s blood.”
The Serpen’s lifeless-looking body moves away from the darkness and toward me, but it stops at the shadow’s edge, hissing. Any closer and the poison from its mouth will render me useless if it spits. But so will the gun in the girl’s hand. I better act fast.
“I hate to disappoint,” I say, “but it’s not my blood that’s going to be spilled tonight. Besides, I think there’s someone who likes the taste of blood more than you do.”
The Canine looks back and forth at his fellow Primes and nods as if to say, “get her.” Before anything else can happen, I take one step backwards and fall into the manhole. My hands catch the lip of the circular opening, leaving my legs dangling just above the two Junks. I swing my body fast and only let go when I’m able to jump past them. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I’m running.
“I’m coming toward you,” I say to Tank.
“Hurry,” his voice says back.
I glance over my shoulder. The two Junks who were camping out at the bottom of the manhole are scurrying after me, the knuckles at the end of their long fingers bouncing off the dirt floor. Just beyond them, where the spoiled food wanes, a mound of Junks fight, clawing and biting at whatever they can. A few of them have spotted me.
The woman with the gun momentarily blocks my view of the Junks. I’m surprised that she is the first one through. She sees me running away and raises the gun along with a smile that suggests she has the upper hand. That hand is swiped clean off her body by a stubby Junk with long claws. She screams and falls to the ground, clutching her bleeding, handless arm to her chest. I turn the corner before seeing what happens next, but when the woman’s screams are cut off suddenly, I can guess what happened.
The hallway is darker here and more narrow, but it’s clear of Junks, which was the plan. I run fast, pumping my arms back and forth to stay ahead of the Junks that are still chasing after me. The cold metal of the gun at my back is a comfort. In a bind, I can use it. So far this plan is going better than I expected.
A few pops echo through the tunnels. The Canine and the Serpen have most likely joined the fight.
Half a mile. That’s how far I need to run. Three minutes if I’m super fast. I turn another corner and glance behind me. There are now five Junks in pursuit, their expressions twisted into a blinding hunger with wide, bloodshot eyes and crowded teeth in bloodied mouths. Stay in front of them; that’s all I have to do.
Sounds all at once fill the tunnel. Some are high-pitched squeals accompanied by a sort of hissing–spitting noise that I can only assume is the Serpen. A series of small explosions shake the earth beneath me, making me stumble to my knees. I scramble to my feet and keep running even when the claws of one of the Junks just misses tearing off my foot. I reach for the gun. I didn’t want to have to use the wind blaster this soon, but I may not have a choice. The Junks are so close now they may as well be my shadow.
If I can just go a little faster. Push! I give it all I’ve got, every muscle working together, doing their part until my strides lengthen. This seems to do the trick and soon the Junks are back within a comfortable distance. I’m so close. There are no more explosions, no more screaming. Even though I’m sprinting, my breathing and heartbeat become steady. I’m going to make it.
“That was a dirty trick you pulled!” the voice of the Canine calls. His voice is loud in the small tunnel, startling me, and I almost stumble again.
A tight knot forms in my throat. The Canine is still alive. I glance over my shoulder. There’s not enough light for me to determine how close he is to me. Only the Junks are there, but two of them have stopped, probably to attack the threat behind them.
A moment later my eardrums are accosted by a terrible ripping sound of flesh and bones, followed by a spray blast, as if someone has thrown a bucket of water into the wall, but I know it’s not water. Something moans long and deep.
I turn the corner. One more bend and I will be out of this mess. “Are you there, Tank?”
“I’m in position.”
There’s more light where I’m heading, a bright curtain of safety. I look behind me one last time. Beyond my shadowing Junks is the Canine, his face torn and bloody but still alive. And just beyond him are several more of the mutated creatures.
Light envelops me as I turn the last corner and for the first time since dropping into the tunnels, I take a deep breath. Tank’s head is lowered in from the manhole.
“Hurry!” He stretches out his long arm.
I’m still sprinting, more from joy than fear now. Soon Tank will pull me up and seal the manhole behind, leaving the Canine with hungry Junks. My only task before freedom is to blast the Canine, temporarily immobilizing his body, giving the J
unks a fabulous feast.
The light above me flickers and dust falls from the ceiling as if something huge has shaken the tunnel. The few Junks are still behind me, followed by the Canine. They don’t seem to notice the disruption.
I look at Tank at the same time a monstrous roar fills the tunnel, shaking me until I think my bones might crumble. I have to catch myself against the wall to keep from falling over. I hurry and glance behind me to make sure I won’t be attacked by Junks. They, too, have frozen in place, and they no longer look like bloodthirsty animals, but more like startled fawns. Their yellowed eyes can’t get any wider. They stare beyond me at something hidden within the shadows. The Canine is the only one still moving forward, seemingly unaware of the danger. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
“What was that?” Tank asks.
I don’t answer. There’s a massive shape moving toward us. The side of its body slides against the walls, sounding like sandpaper.
Tank turns his head toward the sound. A second later he says, “You better move. Fast.”
But it’s too late. The creature is already moving beneath Tank, who is covering his nose. Instinctively, I hold my breath and raise the gun in my hand. I flash it back and forth between the Canine and the unknown monster, not sure who I should shoot. The Junks still aren’t moving, despite the Canine coming up behind them dangerously close.
The far reaches of the light finally touch the creature, and I suck in air. It’s so disfigured that I don’t know what deformity repels me the most. Its arms are short and positioned awkwardly on the front of its hairless body that’s gray in color, except for the parts that are blood red where it looks like his leather-like skin has fallen off. The creature is at least two heads taller than the Junks but still shorter than me. The most abnormal feature about it, if I had to choose just one, is how wide it is, like it’s just eaten a horse. And by the blood dripping from its flat, long chin, that might be a likely possibility.
“Shoot it!” Tank yells.
I turn around at the sound of blades slashing through skin. Behind me the Canine has torn the Junks in two, painting the walls in red. Just beyond him is a crowd of Junks huddled together at the back of the tunnel with hungry, eager faces.
Escape to Eden Page 24