by Deven Kane
Megan eyed him. “Where is it?”
Mateo gulped another breath of air, wiping moisture from his face. “I pitched it into the ocean, where it promptly sank to the bottom. It’s unlikely anyone will bother searching for it there. The Citizens will have more pressing concerns.”
Nothing like a leak in the dam to create a diversion. Amos savored the taste of their improvised solution. I’ll bet Darcy never considered this outcome when he installed that door.
Their discovery of the sealed door had shocked the team into stunned immobility. They’d stared at the fused metal as the incoming tide lapped at their ankles. It was Mateo who sprang into action.
He seized the circular handle, wrenching it sideways with his Tracker-enhanced strength. The metal bulkhead resisted him at first, but then the door buckled outward. A metallic shriek pierced the air inside the confined space as the handle ripped free from its moorings.
Mateo didn’t pause, tossing the twisted handle aside. He continued tearing at the sealed portal. Cracks appeared along the upper right corner, spreading like a spider’s web around the sturdy hinge.
The door was designed to open outward, in deference to the water pressure at high tide. The hinges gave Mateo another grip in his relentless assault.
He was a gory mess by the time the hatch, twisted and misshapen, was wrenched free. Blood dripped from multiple cuts on his forearms, and his hands were raw and trembling from the exertion. He dropped the crumpled door behind him, falling to his knees as if the effort exhausted what was left of his strength.
The Runners gathered on either side of the ragged opening. Aubrey reached out a hand, but refrained from touched the sharp edges.
Mateo struggled to his feet. His wounds were already beginning to heal. Amos tried not to stare. I’ve never imagined this could be possible.
Mateo seized the twisted remains of the door, dragging it toward the beach. The incoming tide lapped at the hatch’s lower threshold as he splashed past them.
Amos led the way through the ruined doorway, ducking through the narrow crevice to stand on the catwalk. We’re here, inside the Enclave. With a diversionary tactic none of us would’ve dreamed of.
“It would be unwise to remain here.” Mateo flexed his hands as they regenerated. The lacerations on his arms were closed, and he was no longer losing blood. Amos wondered if his scars would eventually fade as well.
Another gush of seawater surged behind them, as the trickle became an ever-growing stream. The volume of water was increasing as the tide continued its inexorable return. Without the door to hold the ocean at bay, the stream would soon become a raging torrent, flooding the maintenance level and wreaking havoc on the machinery.
“You’re sure there’s no danger to the workers.” Aubrey grasped the railing with both hands, leaning over to take in the dizzying view. “They’ll make it out before it’s too late?”
“The Citizens will dispatch emergency crews.” Megan laid a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “They won’t want floating corpses to slow the repair crews.”
Amos winced at the stricken look on Aubrey’s face. Wrong approach, Megan. I guess tact and diplomacy aren’t part of your programming.
Mateo came to Aubrey’s rescue. “The Citizens won’t waste assets. Workers are a valuable resource. The machines, however, were never designed for immersion in seawater.”
“I don’t want their deaths on my conscience.” Aubrey glanced at the volume of the water cascading through the broken wall. “How long will it last?”
“The tide will peak in six hours before it recedes again,” Mateo replied promptly, back to his instructor role. “The higher the tide, the greater the water pressure behind it.”
He turned abruptly. “We’re wasting valuable time.”
He began to jog along the catwalk, setting a brisk pace. Amos brought up the rear, urging his companions to keep pace with Mateo. We’re making up for lost time. Garr’s team is counting on us.
Aubrey ran with one hand poised above the handrail, as if she might need to steady herself at any moment. Amos noticed she avoided looking down as she ran, keeping her eyes fixed on Mateo’s back.
Vertigo. Amos glanced through the catwalk’s mesh flooring and guessed the source of her unease. There’s no hiding how high the catwalk is.
Everyone was out of breath by the time they reached the first ascending staircase. The sole exception was Mateo, who appeared invigorated by the exercise.
Megan halted without warning, one foot on the first step, grasping the handrails for support. Amos almost collided with her. Something behind them had captured her attention. Aubrey gasped beside him, her scarred hand rising to cover her mouth.
Amos whirled around, expecting to face attack.
Fifty-Eight
THE SMALL TRICKLE OF seawater grew into a driving waterfall, cascading over and through the catwalk to crash against a very different shore. The rising tide was nowhere near its peak, but the sight was already spectacular.
Amos leaned over the handrail, noticing for the first time the feverish activity below. Supervisors ran up and down the aisles between the machines, waving their arms and shouting at the workers. Their words were lost in the droning bedlam of the engines.
Several of the machines below Amos’s position went dark as their frenzied operators shut them down.
Never designed for immersion in seawater. Amos recalled Mateo’s earlier words with a shiver of dread.
In the distance, beneath the waterfall they’d inadvertently created, electricity began to arc. The artificial lightning bolts cast wild reflections in the deluge of water. Thunder boomed, drowning out the machinery. It was accompanied, more than followed, by a brilliant flare of lightning. Amos blinked hard to clear his eyes.
The artificial lighting system, suspended in racks above the maintenance level, no longer illuminated the area below the waterfall. The darkness obscured his view of the electrical explosion’s aftermath.
Water conducts electricity, just like a real thunderstorm. Amos’ mouth went dry. He squeezed his eyes shut, the bluish after-image still visible. That wasn’t a natural lightning strike. The machines below the waterfall . . .
He pushed the idea out of his mind. Megan resumed her climb, forcing Aubrey to ascend the stairs ahead of her. Mateo hadn’t paused, and was near the apex of the stairwell. If Megan had arrived at the same grim conclusion as Amos, she made no mention of it.
I won’t lie to Aubrey. But if she doesn’t ask, I’m not going to tell her.
A cacophony of shouting wafted up from below, loud enough to eclipse the ringing in his ears. Amos clung to the handrail, staring down at the maintenance level. The smell of ozone hung heavy in the air.
It took him only a moment to realize what was happening. Numerous agitated workers gestured overhead.
They were pointing at him.
Amos scrambled up the stairs, lunging past Mateo. The door slide shut, muffling the cacophony of machines, shouting, and the rush of the waterfall. Mateo locked it and smashed the digital controls.
Aubrey and Megan huddled close together, catching their breath. The contrast between the antiseptic room and the dirty maintenance level was jarring.
Mateo rummaged through the nearest bank of lockers, pulling out Hoarder clothing and sorting it. Most of the items were tossed to the floor, but a few pieces caught his eye.
“Put these on, both of you.” He handed the stolen garments to Aubrey and Megan. “Amos, I trust you brought the clothing Darcy gave you?”
Amos nodded and followed Mateo into the next room. Aubrey gave him a relieved look before shutting the door, her new outfit clutched in her other hand.
Amos squatted, opening his rucksack. He unpacked the fashionable but impractical garb Darcy had provided for him. “If we want to make up for lost time, we should ‘commandeer’ another truck.”
He peeled off his sodden clothing and shrugged into the Hoarder outfit. “Taking the subway will slow us down.”
“Public transit isn’t an option,” Mateo replied, sounding distracted. “There’s too much surveillance; too many Citizens who may ask the wrong question about the Initiative. Public paranoia is at an all-time high. I’ve already arranged a vehicle for our use.”
He stepped aside as the door opened, admitting Aubrey and Megan. Mateo nodded with approval at their new attire, but Amos was troubled.
Aubrey’s scars were hidden under her long-sleeved guise, but Megan’s eye patch and facial scarring would be a beacon of imperfection in the Enclave’s pristine society.
“We’ll need to keep a low profile.” Mateo’s unblinking gaze settled on Megan, but his expression betrayed nothing. “I know the perfect hiding place. For a few hours, at least.”
Fifty-Nine
JANE WAITED UNTIL THE door closed before speaking. “If any of them says ‘for the good of the Enclave’—just one more time—I’m going to puke on Darcy’s fake fireplace.”
Don feigned dismay. “And here I told Darcy you were house-broken. Are you trying to make a liar out of me?”
Darcy had departed earlier that morning, like a practiced martyr, on his way to receive a node. Connor became sullen and uncommunicative after his foster father left. The Runners elected to stay out of the young Hoarder’s way, keeping to their spacious and overindulgent room.
“You don’t have to like Darcy.” Don smoothed the silky fabric of his shirt with a look of distaste. “But try to fake it for the good of the team, okay?”
Jane shook an accusing finger at him, fighting back a grin. “I thought you were going to say ‘the good of the Enclave,’ just to see what I’d do.”
“If we’re too friendly, we’d look suspicious.” Garr joined in, grinning at the verbal jousting. “There’s no love lost here—for anyone. I can’t wait to leave the Enclave for the last time, never to return.”
“As we all live happily ever after, in a Giver-free world.” Sheila laughed as she gathered their empty breakfast plates. “One thing I’ll say for our hosts, though—it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten so well.”
“Only because you haven’t tried my cooking yet.” Don adopted a snobbish air. “All else will pale by comparison, I promise. You know, I did sleep well last night, although I’m not sure I want to give the Hoarders credit.”
The door opened, revealing the taciturn Connor.
“Darcy wants to meet us downtown.” He spoke only to Garr. He said nothing else, pivoted on his heel and left. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Don raised his eyebrows. “Somebody got up on the wrong side of the Enclave this morning.”
The big man glanced at Garr, who shrugged in response. “You heard him. Darcy’s expecting us.”
Sixty
THE INFOMEDIA FLICKERED on the viewscreen above the hearth—picture only, volume muted. Connor stood facing it, but his attention was devoted to removing his wrist com. Once upon a time, this was the only way the collaborators could trace our whereabouts.
He tossed the com on the coffee table, aware of the stark symbolism. The next time I see Darcy, he’ll have a node. And my turn’s coming.
“What’s on the Infomedia?” Sheila asked as the savages filtered into the gathering room. “More node propaganda?”
Connor shook his head. He’d been preoccupied with morbid visions of the collaborators forcing Darcy to accept a node against his will. “They’re having some problems on the maintenance level. One of the day workers screwed up and caused a power outage. Must be a slow news day.”
He pointed a remote at the viewscreen, and the image blinked out with a noticeable pop.
“So, you’ve heard from Darcy.” The Colonel’s expression was hard to read. “He’s joined the Anodyne Initiative?”
Connor refused to be baited. “Tony made the call. Darcy has to watch his step, now that he’s got a node.”
He unzipped his jacket, patting an inner pocket. “But he gave me all of his codes for the Citadel, just in case.”
Do you hear me, savages? Darcy left me in charge.
He gestured to the door. “Tony’s downstairs in the parking garage. Let’s not keep Darcy waiting.”
The savages hesitated, looking to their leader. Garr didn’t disappoint. He opened the door without question and led his motley crew out of the villa.
Connor smirked as he followed, pausing to lock the door. Darcy also took the Implant controller with him. It’s time you “allies” started earning your keep.
Sixty-One
THE INTERIOR OF THE truck was cramped and uncomfortable. They’d exceeded the seating limit, but had no other choice.
Connor tried to calm his nerves. He’d ordered Don to ride in the cargo area, and was secretly relieved when the big man complied. He wanted the thuggish savage isolated in the confined space. Still, having four savages seated behind him—even if they were all Implanted—was unsettling.
No matter. Connor steeled himself to show no concern. Darcy’s counting on me. I won’t let him down.
Tony looked terrible. His eyes were puffy, his face pale and sweaty, and his habit of drumming on the steering wheel—badly—was more irritating than ever. Lot of good those extra couple hours of sleep did.
Tony shifted into gear, whistling tunelessly as he drove to the vehicle lift. It was close to noon, and there was no line-up. Connor gazed out the side window, distracted by thoughts of Darcy and nodes.
The engine stalled, jarring him out of his preoccupation with the Initiative. Tony yanked the keys out of the ignition, bolting from the vehicle as if his life depended on it.
The savages protested, but Connor stared dumbly, frozen in place by the gloating expression on Tony’s face.
The chauffeur backed out of the lift as the overhead lights flickered on. The gates began to close. The lift was about to engage. Tony twirled the keyring on one finger and tossed it over his shoulder with exaggerated nonchalance.
Connor scrambled awkwardly over the console, thrusting his head and shoulder through the open window. “What’s the matter with you? Darcy’s waiting for us.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when he spotted a dark figure approaching.
He half-ran in an odd crouch, cradling the latest weapon from the Givers. His face was hidden behind the black visor of a Peace Warden in full riot gear. He took a sentry position behind Tony, waiting.
The barred grate descended from the ceiling, meeting its solid counterpart rising from below.
They were trapped.
Tony peered between the vertical bars, a triumphant smile on his face, and Connor belatedly caught on.
“Traitor.” His fists clenched in impotent rage. How did I not see this coming?
“You’re so naive.” Tony laughed, self-assured behind the safety of the gate. “Darcy’s brainwashed protégé, ready to give it all for the good of the Enclave.”
Connor clawed at the door handle. The door popped open, spilling him on the unforgiving metal floor. He ignored the pain and threw himself at the gate. The savages scrambled out of the truck, knotted together in a tight circle of alarm.
Connor lunged at Tony, stretching between the metal bars, but the cocky chauffeur retreated, just out of reach. The Warden stood a pace or two behind him, watching, waiting.
“Darcy’s not a martyr for getting a node.” Tony laughed at Connor with undisguised contempt. “He’s just taking himself out of harm’s way. Darcy’s gift to himself—complete deniability. You’ve heard his speech about cannon fodder. What makes you think you’re exempt?”
Connor snarled at him, not believing a word of it. “You’re lying.”
“I’ll bet you couldn’t keep your eyes open at the clinic last night.” The lift shuddered, beginning its ascent. Tony threw Connor a mock salute. “Darcy gave you the codes, but he kept the controller, didn’t he?”
The Warden fired his weapon, and Tony fell silent.
“Our mole, revealed at last.” Jane’s caustic voice broke the heavy s
ilence. She spat at the gate where Tony stood moments earlier. “Looks good on him.”
Garr didn’t relax. “Something’s off. Why would the Peace Warden shoot him?”
Don snorted. “My guess? Once they’ve done their dirty work, moles are expendable.”
Sheila paced back and forth across the vibrating lift. “Then he would’ve shot Tony immediately, and maybe us too. It’s like he was waiting until . . .”
She halted, eyes widening. “He was collecting intel.”
Connor hung his head, staring at his feet. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and he found it difficult to breathe.
My hands are shaking. He tried, and failed, to control the tremors. I’m trapped in a lift with mindless savages. We’re all going to die, and they’re debating why Tony was shot.
“Anyone got an inspirational idea?” Don’s baritone drawl echoed as the lift passed another parking level. “Our mole tossed the keys. I guess I could try hot-wiring this thing.”
Connor exploded in sudden fury. “There’s no time.” He rounded on his useless allies, jabbing a finger at the opposite side of the lift. “Our next stop is street level, and the Wardens will already be there, waiting for us. In about thirty seconds, we’re dead.”
Garr took charge. “Behind the truck, everyone,” he ordered, leading the way. “It’s not much of a strategy, I know. I’m open to suggestions.”
“It beats lining up for the firing squad.” Sheila crouched beside him. She tried to force a smile and failed. “It’s been an honor serving with you, Colonel.”
Don reached inside the truck, yanking a long knife out of his rucksack. He unsheathed it, gazing wistfully at the serrated blade. “I was hoping to use this on a Giver. This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
He dropped to one knee beside Jane. “It’s not as much fun when you’re one of the fish.”