Scorpion

by Deven Kane

  “So, what’s your plan?” Amos handed the binoculars back, shielding his eyes as the rising sun peaked over the Enclave. “If a ship full of mutineers couldn’t get through, I’m not sure what the two of us can accomplish on foot.”

  “Your tone of voice suggests a certain lack of confidence in my abilities,” Mateo replied, his dark eyes unwavering. “Or at the very least, the absence of basic respect between us. Do you think I haven’t taken all the variables into account?”

  You picked a fine time to stop talking in riddles. Amos looked away, biting his tongue to avoid an unhelpful jibe. He squinted at the bright reflection of dawn on the ocean waves.

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said at last, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “The Givers are the real enemy. But a lot of us have good reasons to hate the Hoarders—between Implants and Trackers, we’ve lost friends and family. You can’t expect us to stuff those memories as if they never happened.”

  And my brother’s death is none of your business.

  Mateo lifted his chin, looking down at Amos, his expression unchanged. Despite the growing daylight, Amos saw the faint glow of red around his left eye.

  “I was content in my life as a shopkeeper,” Mateo said, not breaking eye contact. “Yet against my will, I was changed into a Tracker. To serve the Givers, or be executed.”

  The red light winked out, restoring his human appearance. “Your craving for vengeance is an enemy equal to the Givers. I ask nothing of you, which I do not also require of myself.”

  The wind gusted past them, bringing with it another dousing of salty spray. They remained at an impasse, crouched behind the rocks.

  “I owe you an apology.” Amos found it hard to put into words. “I guess I never . . .”

  Mateo stopped him with an upraised hand. “I do not seek an apology. You pay lip service to the idea of the Givers as our common enemy, but we’re about to enter their fortress. Your distrust of me is an impediment. Once we’re inside, the danger increases. Second-guessing me every step of the way is as risky to me as it is to you.”

  Amos felt his cheeks flush. Busted, in mid-apology.

  “Maybe I owe you two apologies.” He exhaled, watching for Mateo’s reaction. He gave none. “All right then, here’s the short version. You’re right—this can’t be about revenge. And we need to present a united front inside the Enclave.”

  The words were difficult to say, and even harder to speak with conviction. I can’t lie to him—I have to make a choice. “We’ll do whatever’s necessary inside the Enclave, and we’ll do it as a team. I give you my word.”

  Mateo ducked his head in a slight bow. “Agreed.”

  Amos looked past him, peeking over the craggy ridge at the formidable weaponry above the marine gate. “Since I’m well-aware you have a plan in mind, how do we sneak into Hoarderville, if not by sea?”

  Mateo eyed him, not turning to look down the channel. “I trust your ability to feign sincerity will improve with more practice.”

  Nineteen

  MATEO TURNED HIS BACK on the channel, gesturing for Amos to follow. He scrambled over the green-slick rocks, exposed by the receding tide, to splash in the ankle-deep water.

  Amos followed, surprised they were retracing their steps. In less than a minute, the fortified gate was no longer visible, hidden from view by the rocky terrain.

  If we can’t see the gate, the guards can’t see us. The thought did little to reassure him.

  Mateo crept along the water’s edge, testing each step. The rocks were slick with dark green vegetation—the perfect recipe for a disastrous injury.

  Amos followed, noticing for the first time the small pockets and clefts worn into the rocks by years of erosion. At high tide, everything would be submerged. His pulse quickened as his imagination suggested a reason for Mateo’s careful inspection.

  Mateo pulled off his rucksack, holding it in front of him as he squatted and crab-walked under a barnacle-encrusted ledge. Amos crouched down, peering inside, and then hunched low to make his own awkward way into the gap.

  A few meters in, Amos discovered he could stand upright. He took two quick steps and almost collided with Mateo in the semi-darkness. The waves breaking on the rocks outside made a muted, hollow sound.

  To his amazement, he found Mateo had halted before a crusty wall, adorned with barnacles. The dripping alcove reeked of seaweed and damp decay. In the middle of the wall was an oblong door with a circular handle protruding from it.

  Mateo indicated the sealed portal, no trace of gloating in his voice. “This is our secret entrance into the Enclave.”

  Amos was surprised at how easily the handle spun under Mateo’s coaxing. He noticed the door’s smooth metal surface, a marked contrast to the crusty wall surrounding it. This is a recent addition.

  Mateo pulled on the heavy handle, and the door opened outward into the tiny cave. He signaled to Amos, who ducked his head and stepped over the high threshold. Mateo followed, pulling the door shut in one fluid, soundless motion. He spun the handle, and the clandestine entrance was secured.

  Amos inhaled the cool air, grateful to be away from the malodorous seaweed. As his eyes adjusted, he realized they were standing in a narrow corridor, perhaps three meters long. An irregular opening in the stone surface, roughly waist-high, led deeper underground.

  “How is this entrance possible?” Amos dared to ask, unable to contain his curiosity. “The marine gate’s not far away. How could the Hoarders not know about this?”

  Mateo stooped as if to crawl through the dark opening, but swung around to face him. He cocked his head to one side, studying him in the cavern’s murky twilight. Amos was startled to realize the sole source of light was Mateo’s scanning eye, its red glow providing scant illumination.

  Amos hastened to add, “I’m not second-guessing you—I’m just curious.”

  Mateo nodded at the low opening. “The passage ahead has existed since the foundations for the Enclave were first laid. If you’ll follow me, all will become clear.”

  “That door is new.” Amos jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no way it’s been here, underwater, since the Enclave was built. It’d be covered in seaweed like the rest of the wall.”

  Mateo gave no reply as he entered the dark passage feet-first, navigating a short descent of roughened stone. Amos hurried after him, suddenly aware he possessed no artificial light source of his own.

  He felt, and heard, the metallic surface under his questing foot as he exited the natural conduit. His eyes adjusted and his mouth dropped open. They stood on a metal catwalk overlooking a massive cavern, stretching down and away from him in a dizzying panorama.

  The lighting—there was a green-tinged source of illumination—was murky but enough for him to make out row after row of bulky machinery, far below.

  The catwalk ran along the smooth wall, disappearing into the murky distance. Amos tore his eyes away to find Mateo studying him, his scanning eye now extinguished.

  “The original purpose of this passage is unknown to me.” Mateo spoke before Amos could ask. “We’re fortunate to have discovered it.”

  He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and set off at a brisk pace. Amos was left, once again, with no option but to follow.

  “How did you find the entrance?” he asked as he caught up, matching Mateo’s longer strides.

  Mateo slowed, looking at him with mild amusement. “I’m a Tracker. I followed them.”

  Amos frowned and raised his voice, regretting the echoes which awoke in response. “Followed who?” His question was sharper than he intended. Mateo didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “Runners whose Implants were activated,” he said without inflection. “They must infiltrate the Enclave in order to carry out their assignments. This is their entry point. The location of the door is programmed into them once their Implants are activated.”

  Their assignments. You mean, assassinations. Amos fought to quash a surge of renewed bitterness. “Pr
ogrammed? You mean Darcy knows about this? Why isn’t it guarded? You’d think the Givers would station a Tracker there, to take care of anyone using it.”

  Mateo resumed his rapid pace, his footsteps evoking no echoes. “Darcy’s on the Council,” was his cryptic response.

  Mateo the tour guide—he loves laying out the clues. “You’re saying Darcy knows about this door, and uses his position on the Council to make sure it stays unknown. And unguarded. That even the Givers don’t know about it.”

  “Darcy ordered the door’s installation,” Mateo said. “Your assumption about it not being part of the original foundation is accurate. We’re in the maintenance level beneath the Enclave.”

  Amos couldn’t help but be impressed. The cavern was immense, and it was obviously not natural. The number of complex machines visible through the catwalk’s metal grating was mind-boggling.

  “I’m pleased with your ability to analyze new information,” Mateo said, resuming his previous pace along the catwalk. His footsteps were silent. “Garr must be congratulated on his team. When you keep your emotions in check, each of you has demonstrated a remarkable ability to think.”

  “You aren’t very good at giving compliments.” Amos shook his head with a wry smile. “Assuming that’s your intent. I suppose Trackers have their own secret exit when they come hunting for us.”

  Mateo didn’t hesitate as he came to a staircase, ascending at the same ground-eating pace. “Not necessary. Trackers are conducting ‘official business’ on behalf of the Council. They enjoy the same access to the gates as any freeborn Citizen.”

  He paused to look over his shoulder, a rare smile lighting his face. “The newest recruit among the guards knows better than to interfere with a Tracker on its Quest.”

  Twenty

  AMOS CAUGHT UP TO MATEO, at the base of a new staircase. He paused to catch his breath, glancing at the humming machines, and frowned. “It’s getting lighter down here. Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Another workday is about to commence,” Mateo said, his expression once again neutral. He surveyed the complex maze below them. “We have a narrow window of time between low tide and the beginning of the day shift. Those fortunate enough to secure a work permit will soon arrive to begin their service to the Enclave.”

  Amos bristled at the thought. The Hoarders must enjoy watching us beg for work, and then sending the “lucky” ones into this dungeon to do the jobs they won’t. “Let’s not forget the Hoarders also throw them back outside once their shift’s over. Anything to remind us they hold all the power, as well as all the resources.”

  “The economic and social inequities are only a secondary concern.” Mateo waved an arm in the general direction of the machines. He resumed his relentless journey. “Don’t allow your emotions to distract you.”

  Amos took a deep breath and scrambled after him. The overhead lighting system emitted a loud series of pops and clicks, the luminance increasing at an accelerated pace. They came to another landing, and Mateo left the stairs, setting a punishing pace along a second catwalk, following the curve of the wall.

  This is a familiar route for him. Amos frowned as he weighed the implications. I’m not the first Runner he’s brought into the Enclave. His mouth was dry as he jogged after Mateo, his earlier suspicions re-awakened.

  Below them, the sounds of human activity reached his ears. Muted conversations, orders issued, the trudge of many feet, and an ever-increasing mechanical cacophony as more machines were activated.

  The overhead lights reached their peak. Amos felt his heart beat faster as he realized the workers were spreading across the massive space—in their direction.

  There was nowhere to hide on the catwalk. They were exposed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The workers might not betray us, but their overseers—the ones barking orders—must be loyal to the Enclave.

  He said as much to Mateo, finding it necessary to raise his voice over the increased volume as additional machines were brought online.

  Mateo didn’t slow his brisk gait. “This catwalk cannot be accessed from below. The workers, and their overseers, will assume we’ve been sent on some official errand. It is unlikely they will raise any alarm.”

  Amos was not expecting Mateo’s sudden halt, and barely avoided a collision. Mateo faced a closed door in the wall, the tight seal rendering its outline all but invisible.

  The door hissed as it slid back and away, the narrow opening providing just enough clearance for Mateo to squeeze through, followed at once by Amos.

  Mateo closed the door, muffling the industrial noise of the maintenance level. They stood in a long room, adorned on either side by storage units. The interior lighting was cold and artificial, underlining the room’s stark pragmatism.

  The Hub under the Mission is more welcoming. Amos felt the familiar tension between his shoulder blades. The stakes just got higher. Again.

  “Say nothing.” Mateo fixed a stern gaze on him. The red circle under his skin flared to full intensity. “No questions, no comments—nothing. I am a Tracker, and you must play the part of my prisoner. There are doubtless a few minor Citizens between us and our goal. We must arouse no suspicion.”

  “And our goal is what, exactly?” Amos’s temper flared in the mounting tension. “Feel free to be specific.”

  Mateo cocked his head to one side, his posture as abnormal as the red circle around his eye.

  “There’s a parking garage several levels above this one,” he replied, as if their destination should have been obvious. “The Enclave is far too large to travel on foot. It’s necessary to commandeer transportation to facilitate our journey.”

  “We’re going to steal a Hoarder truck.” Amos nodded, translating. “And go where?”

  “To pay the Councilor a visit.” Mateo seemed surprised by the question. “The Colonel and Sheila guided the Citizens to safety during the Tracker ambush. Darcy would insist on bringing them into the Enclave.”

  He paused, looking pensive. “He would also be inclined to keep them here indefinitely, but our arrival should loosen his grasp.”

  Amos stared at him, pleasantly surprised. “I’m relieved to hear you don’t blindly trust Darcy.”

  Mateo grimaced. “This alliance must survive. That doesn’t mean we’re required to throw caution to the wind.”

  He pulled his cap lower over his face, gesturing for Amos to copy his action. Amos complied, dreading the prospect of seeing Darcy again—on his own turf.

  “Keep your eyes on the ground in front of you,” Mateo said as he strode to the far end of the room. He opened the door, peering cautiously in both directions. Satisfied, he seized Amos by the arm, dragging him into the hallway. “The eyes and ears of the Givers are everywhere. Keep your head down, and say nothing unless I permit it.”

  Amos pulled his cap lower, finding it easy to imitate a dejected prisoner accompanying his captor. Next stop, Darcy’s living room. I feel like a prisoner already.

  THE ELEVATOR ROSE—SMOOTH, silent—hauling them skyward to the twentieth floor. Amos shoved his hands deep into his pockets, remembering to keep his play-acting gaze on the carpeted floor. So, this is what a functioning elevator feels like.

  His stomach fluttered as the elevator came to a stop, the momentary weightlessness catching him unaware.

  Their journey through the maze of hallways beneath the Enclave had been completed without incident. Amos lost all sense of direction as their path took multiple twists and turns. They might be traveling in circles, but he had no choice except to trust Mateo.

  The few Citizens they passed ignored them, acting as if both he and Mateo were invisible. Amos suspected the red glare around Mateo’s eye could be credited for the Citizens’ studied disinterest.

  Mateo needed less than thirty seconds to steal a Hoarder vehicle from the underground parking lot. Amos was unable to stifle a gasp when they exited the garage and joined the insanity that was the vehicle level. Mateo piloted their vehicle with skill a
nd confidence.

  Amos counted twenty lanes of traffic, each vehicle locked in maniacal competition with the rest. The contrast to the Old City’s pot-holed and empty streets was jarring.

  Mateo kept to the outer lanes, beneath a massive overhang he called a “pedestrian level,” in response to Amos’s breathless inquiry. The overhang prevented Amos from seeing more of the bustling anthill of humanity inside the Enclave.

  Just as well. Amos hated to admit it. I must’ve looked like a gawking savage, until Mateo reminded me to keep my head down.

  The elevator doors parted and they stepped out, the plush carpet cushioning their footsteps. Mateo navigated without hesitation to one of the many look-alike doors lining the opulent hallway. There was a small panel beside the door, and Mateo pressed a button, clasping his hands behind his back as they waited.

  Amos inhaled several slow, steady breaths, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders. Stay relaxed. Sure, you’re about to step into Darcy’s personal domain, but the Hoarders probably have this hallway under surveillance, too.

  Hidden in plain sight still applies inside the Enclave.

  He roused himself as the door hissed open, retracting into the wall. Despite his mental preparation, Amos gasped.

  “Good welcome, Citizens.” Sheila smiled in greeting. She stepped away from the door, waving them inside with a wide sweep of an arm.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  Twenty-One

  THE STEEP ASCENT WAS daunting. Megan’s muscles burned in protest by the time they gained the crest of the hill. She was grateful when Don signaled a halt to catch their breath.

  She leaned against the rough bark of the nearest tree, filling her lungs with the brisk air. Any distraction was preferable to the disturbing memories triggered by the dead Tracker.