by Deven Kane
Daylight filtered through the metal grate, eclipsing the artificial lights. The lift clanked to a halt, and after an eternity’s pause, the gates retracted. Connor squeezed his eyes shut, his hand instinctively seeking the talisman around his neck.
The guttural hissing of weapons-fire greeted them. The sound seemed to be amplified inside the vehicle lift, followed by an eerie silence.
Connor forced his eyes open, looking over his shoulder at his equally mystified companions. Garr edged past him, craning his neck for a guarded look. His jaw dropped and he sat back on his heels, presenting a clear target.
“Now, I’ve seen everything.” He got to his feet and circled the truck, heading for the gate. His companions scrambled to follow, emerging from behind the truck to stare in shock at the improbable scene.
Connor counted four Peace Wardens. Three sprawled in awkward heaps on the ground, dead. The fourth stood at ease, his weapon aimed harmlessly at the ceiling. He flipped his visor up, revealing a red circle of light around his left eye.
“I know you.” Jane’s voice was hoarse. “In the Old City, a couple of days ago. You were so close, I could’ve touched you.”
The Tracker removed his helmet with his free hand and tossed it on the pavement. “Yes, I remember. You were with Amos at the time.”
He strode to the truck and opened the door. “When these Wardens fail to report in, the Givers will dispatch more. We can’t stay here.”
Don climbed into the driver’s seat, reaching beneath the dashboard. “And go where, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Connor was as unnerved as the savages by the Tracker’s casual answer.
“Wherever Mateo decides.”
Sixty-Two
RAINDROPS DRUMMED ON the roof of the truck in a relentless, unbroken rhythm. The wipers lanced back and forth in a valiant effort to improve visibility. On all sides, the traffic level was crammed with a wide assortment of competing vehicles, all undeterred by the relentless downpour.
Aubrey huddled in the front seat, knees drawn up under her chin. Her eyes were wide, and she looked overwhelmed.
Amos felt some sympathy for her, recalling his first foray into Hoarderville. “It’s a different world, isn’t it?”
Aubrey leaned forward, peering through the rain-lashed windshield. The rain obscured any view of the upper levels. “Right now, I feel like the epitome of the wide-eyed Country Girl. I’m gawking like a tourist.”
She heaved a sigh, settling into her seat. “This must be what a rollercoaster feels like.”
“Almost there.” Mateo cut their conversation short as he merged into a new lane. He caught Amos’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Remember your role. Hidden in plain sight, as you Runners like to say.”
Amos nodded, more uneasy than he cared to admit. He understood the rationale behind Mateo’s plan—the Enclave’s parking garages were a potential trap. The Tracker’s audacious proposal was to park in plain sight, outside the rear entrance to the Surveillance Monitoring Division.
Amos’s task was simple: shield Megan from the camera’s view until they were inside the building.
Simple or not, this is going to be awkward.
Their truck accelerated as they exited the traffic level. The steep tunnel curved up and to the right, depositing them into a busy parking complex. Mateo showed no signs of concern as he steered between rows of empty vehicles.
In a final brazen flourish, he selected a parking space labelled “Visitors Only.” The rain beat a staccato refrain on the roof as he shut the engine off.
Aubrey took a deep breath and opened her door, ducking her head against the heavy rain. Mateo rounded the front of the vehicle, ignoring the foul weather, and they jogged up the short flight of steps.
Amos held the rear door open as Megan slid across the seat to join him. She tugged her hooded sweatshirt forward, but her eyepatch remained visible. As per Mateo’s suggestion, she curled one arm around his waist, burying the side of her face into his jacket.
He threw an awkward arm around her shoulders as they hurried to catch up to Mateo and Aubrey.
Megan’s foot slipped on the rain-slicked curb, and she stumbled. Amos gasped as she tightened her arm around his waist, her fingers digging into the tender scar tissue just under his ribs.
How’s that for ironic? Amos gritted his teeth. A former Tracker finds the scar from my former Implant.
He was well-aware that surveillance cameras tracked their every move. They kept up their diversionary play-acting, splashing through puddles until they were through the foyer inside the rear entrance.
Mateo led them with unerring aim to Lindholm’s office. He paused only to enter a code in the wall-mounted keypad. The door slid open, and without waiting for an invitation, they barged inside.
“Well, well, well.” Tara swiveled her chair to face them, leaning back for a good look at her unexpected visitors. “If it isn’t the Enclave’s most notorious saboteurs. The Monitoring Division is honored.”
“Why are your screens blank?” Amos ignored her acerbic greeting. He crossed her office, the pain in his side forgotten. “I thought it was your job to keep an eye on things.”
“I must concur with my colleague.” Mateo towered over Tara, his gaze shifting from screen to screen in short, sharp jerks. “It appears you’ve failed in your duties.”
Tara leaned an elbow on the arm of her chair with a bemused expression. “Failed in my duties, huh? If that’s the case, I have you to thank for it. Here, take a look.”
She rotated her chair, pointing to the only active screen, a live-feed from the Infomedia. “Your little stunt has been wreaking havoc on our electrical grid. Over a third of the Enclave is without power. Naturally, first priority has been given to the Infomedia. You’re just in time—they’re running your story again.”
She increased the volume. The screen showed a rain-soaked reporter, huddled outside against a backdrop of high-rises. No lights shone in the windows, and signage marquees were dark.
“. . . Earlier reports indicate temporary day workers failed to observe standard safety precautions. The result was a chain reaction in our power grid, which has plunged much of the Enclave into chaos . . .”
“Don’t you just love the Infomedia.” Tara laughed. “They never miss a chance for propaganda. Stoke the fears just right, and now people are complaining the Initiative’s taking too long. Ah, here’s the part you’ll find interesting.”
The video footage changed to a much darker, grainy set of images. That’s the maintenance level.
Amos caught his breath, watching in fascination as frantic supervisors splashed through the water between the machines. Several workers were shouting emphatically as they pointed at something overhead.
The reporter’s voice-over continued. “Shocking footage of the terrorists responsible for the sabotage . . .” An angry figure rose up in front of the security camera, wrenching at it with frantic hands.
The picture shook, and then the camera was twisted out of its mooring, now aimed at an unnatural angle above the maintenance level. The camera was directed at a metal catwalk, and its adjoining staircase. The auto-focus spun, blurring the footage for a moment, and then the camera zoomed in.
The video quality wasn’t good, but clear enough to reveal three figures racing up the steps, and a fourth waving them on from an open door at the top of the staircase.
The scene shifted without pause to a recording with much higher resolution. Now, the footage showed the Runners, in vivid detail, as they exited the room where they’d changed into Hoarder attire.
Tara jabbed a button on her console, freezing the image. Her chair creaked as she leaned back, gazing around the circle of astonished faces. “See what I mean? You’re famous. The whole Enclave’s looking for you.”
She pointed a finger at Megan. “Especially this one—she’s hard to miss.”
Amos’s inner voice shrilled a paranoid warning. He tore his eyes away from the incriminating footage. “Why
are you showing this to us?”
Tara rolled up her sleeve to display a puffy red welt on the inner side of her forearm.
“As dedicated employees in the Division, we were among the first to receive our nodes,” she said dryly, staring at her arm with distaste. “They say the swelling goes down in a day or so. Well, we’ll see.”
She waved in the general direction of the door, dismissing them. “Make no mistake. I’m a loyal Citizen of the Enclave. But I hate the nodes as much as I hate the Givers. Do whatever it takes to help Darcy get rid of them.”
She threw her head back with a bitter laugh. “Besides, if anyone sees your fugitive faces leaving my office, I’m as good as dead anyway.”
Sixty-Three
“CAN WE VERIFY ANYTHING Tony said?” Don kept his voice low. There was nothing to be gained by Connor overhearing their conversation.
The Runners sat in a semi-circle in the gathering room of a modest ground-level villa. The power cut out shortly after they arrived, leaving the room dark and gloomy.
The young Hoarder slouched in the corner of a covered patio, looking miserable as the heavy rain pelted down less than a meter beyond. The sliding door to the villa was open, but it was unlikely Connor could hear their voices above the droning downpour.
Garr leaned back on the overstuffed couch, running his hands through his hair. “You mean what Tony said about Darcy leaving the dirty work to us? That makes no sense, even if he gave the codes to Connor. Bypassing security locks won’t do us much good if we don’t know where to go or what to look for once we’re inside the Citadel.”
“I’m not sure we should believe anything Tony said. He almost got us killed.” Sheila slumped in a recliner opposite Garr. “I’ll bet he gave away the location of our first meeting with the Hoarders. Mateo warned us—he said there was more than one set of Hoarders hunting us.”
“I trust Mateo less than I trust the Hoarders,” Jane replied, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. She glanced around the room with an exaggerated shudder. “It’s creepy, waiting in some dead Hoarder’s apartment.”
Don shrugged, not disturbed in the least by the fate of their unknown host. “When the Tracker who just saved your life says ‘wait here,’ I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, what choice did we have? He took the truck with him.”
Garr shook his head, adjusting his position on the couch. “Darcy’s truck is a liability. Our young Tracker friend is doing us a favor by getting rid of it.”
“His name is Logan Kennedy.” Mateo’s voice wafted out of the darkened kitchen, startling everyone. He stepped over the threshold to join them. “He responds to that name, although it holds neither memory nor identity for him.”
Don jumped to his feet at Mateo’s unexpected entrance. “It’s considered polite to knock first. Or didn’t they teach you that in Tracker school?”
Mateo cocked his head to one side. “The kitchen window was open, and a far more discreet entry point than the front lobby. Our friend from the Surveillance Division was correct. As criminals, we’re quite famous at the moment.”
“So the Infomedia told us, before the power went out,” Jane said irritably. She took a deep breath, placing her hands palm-down on the coffee table. “Welcome to the ‘Enclave’s Most Wanted’ club.”
Sixty-Four
CONNOR HEARD THE SAVAGES’ voices inside the deserted villa, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He preferred it that way. He needed to sort things out, and none of them could possibly understand the full impact of Tony’s betrayal.
He welcomed the cold, damp air and the rain’s soothing patter. It helped him to focus.
They’d always known the collaborators would come after them, if and when they knew whom to look for. The threat of exposure was always in the back of their minds. The risk was worth it, for the promise of restoring a human-only Enclave.
There was also the potential of someone cracking under pressure, and betraying the cause. Connor had little difficulty acknowledging that danger, in theory.
But more than Tony’s betrayal was troubling him. Complete deniability. Those had been his exact words. Cannon fodder.
Beneath his contempt for Tony’s treachery, the chauffeur’s parting words left Connor shaken. He was loyal to Darcy, devoted to their shared cause—but there was a ring of truth to Tony’s outlandish accusation.
Darcy ordered Madison’s execution. Connor tried to think objectively. And he threatened me—there’s no other word for it—told me I was expendable if I jeopardized the cause.
His thoughts strayed to the savages they’d Implanted as weapons against the collaborators. Including his allies inside the villa. Animals. That’s all they’re good for.
For the first time, the words lacked conviction. The recurring theme was Darcy’s ruthless obsession with his cause.
He wouldn’t sacrifice me along with the savages. Connor couldn’t accept the implications of Tony’s accusation. Taking a node so he’d have an excuse to not join us when we go after the Givers? No—Tony’s a liar.
A thunderclap startled him, vibrating through the patio stones beneath him. He glanced through the open patio door, and was surprised to see Mateo.
Connor jumped to his feet and slipped inside the villa. Don was speaking as he entered.
“Your young associate—Logan, is it? —told us to stay put.” The big man re-sheathed his knife, but his massive hand kept a casual grip on the handle. “I think his exact words were ‘wait here.’”
Mateo studied him with a benign expression, undeterred. “Those were my instructions, yes. You were to remain in this villa until I arrived. Now that I’m here, we must move without delay. The rest of the team is waiting for us.”
“Maybe you haven’t heard.” Don crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “We’re on the Enclave’s most-wanted list, and the Peace Wardens are looking for us. Logan said the owner of this villa died in the Council Chamber bombing. This is as good a hidey-hole as any.”
Garr interrupted their tense standoff. “Darcy and I haven’t finalized our plans yet. We can’t confront the Givers without a proper strategy. We need to lay low until we hear from him.”
Mateo cocked his head to one side. The fiery red glow of his scanner flashed into brilliant life.
“A number of the Wardens searching for you are Trackers,” he said, indicating his glowing eye.
“What—is that supposed to be some kind of a threat?” Jane snorted, not looking at him. “The Trackers can scan until their eyes fall out. We aren’t packing high-tech weapons. There’s nothing for them to scan”
Sheila bolted forward in her seat. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.” Her accusation hung in the air between them.
Keep your mouth shut, Tracker. Connor balled his hands into fists, desperately trying to catch Mateo’s eye. Don’t give away Darcy’s strategy.
Mateo paused, his mouth open, looking from Sheila to Garr and back.
“Sheila, I regret there’s no better way to inform you,” he said at last. “You and the Colonel were Implanted during your first visit to the Enclave.”
The savages’ collective gasp of shock covered Connor’s own sharp intake of breath. Sheila, her face ashen, was the first to find her voice. “How long have you known?”
“You knew?” Don unsheathed his knife. “When were you planning on telling us? Or were you?”
“The infirmary in our Hub.” The Colonel’s quiet voice was a stark contrast to Don’s outrage. “I saw the strange look on your face but it never occurred to me . . .”
“The information wasn’t relevant at the time.” Mateo spoke in his calm instructor’s tone. “There was no strategic value in alerting you. The knowledge would’ve been a distraction.”
“What do you mean—not relevant?” Don brandished his weapon, a bull about to charge.
The red circle around Mateo’s left eye was a malevolent beacon in the shadowy room. He ga
zed at each person in turn. “I regret I must further compound the bad news. Since last we spoke, Don and Jane have also been Implanted.”
He lowered his voice, locking eyes with Garr. “Darcy’s ‘strategy’ against the Givers should be obvious by now.”
Traitor! Connor raged, beside himself with fury. I knew you couldn’t be trusted.
Then he realized, with a stab of panic, the savages were all eyeing him. Jane looked as though she was about to vomit. Sheila’s eyes were wide in her pale face.
Garr’s expression was dark and threatening, second only to Don’s growl of menace as he hefted his combat knife.
Mateo stepped in front of Connor, shielding him.
“Don’t be too harsh on our young colleague.” He glanced over his shoulder, the glowing scanner obscuring half of his face. “I’m detecting an additional Implant.”
Connor felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn’t breathe. Darcy kept the controller, didn’t he? Tony’s final taunt echoed in his thoughts.
Complete deniability. Expendable. Cannon fodder.
His hands began to shake, the tremors running through his body as the implications of Mateo’s and Tony’s words coalesced into horrific, crystal-clear focus.
Darcy kept the controller.
Connor slumped to his knees, no longer caring about the knife in Don’s hand. His world shrank to the carpeted floor beneath him. Thunder rumbled outside, and in that sound, he heard the promise of his impending execution.
Sixty-Five
A PAIR OF BOOTS ENTERED Connor’s circle of vision. He looked up, expecting to confront Don and his blade, and was surprised to find Garr.
The Colonel stared down at him for what seemed an eternity, and then crouched to look Connor in the eye.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?” Garr’s voice was measured, but Connor recognized the fire in the Colonel’s eyes. He’ll accept nothing less than a straight answer.