Hatch

by Kenneth Oppel

  “Petra, we need to go!” Anaya said, tugging her by the hand.

  “But Seth—”

  She ran anyway. With rescue so close at hand, she couldn’t stop herself. She felt like she was running toward a dream mirage that might evaporate any second. Anaya could have streaked on ahead, and Petra felt a swell of gratitude that her friend stayed by her side. She dragged air into her lungs. Her feet hit the asphalt of the parking lot. She looked over at the bunker entrance, terrified she’d see guards pouring out.

  From the second helicopter a couple of soldiers hopped down with Dr. Weber. Petra was too breathless to call out her name, but Dr. Weber hurried toward her and opened her arms. Petra and Anaya were instantly wrapped up in them. Petra buried her face in Dr. Weber’s neck. She wasn’t sure she’d ever held anyone tighter.

  “You’re all right, both of you?” Dr. Weber asked urgently. “You’re all right?”

  Petra nodded and gulped out a yes.

  “Where’s Seth?” Dr. Weber asked, drawing back so she could see their faces.

  Petra saw the fear growing in the doctor’s eyes as she waited for their reply.

  “He’s not down here?” Petra said, her stomach suddenly heavy as a stone.

  “No. Did he get out of the building?”

  “Yes. We were all together on the hill—”

  “Was he hurt?” Dr. Weber demanded.

  Petra wasn’t sure if her tone was accusing, or if it was simply her own guilt.

  “No, it’s—it got crazy once the helicopters came,” Petra said. “Everyone panicked and ran.”

  “I told them not to come in so low,” Dr. Weber said angrily. “This is our fault.”

  Petra looked back up the hill. More kids in jumpsuits were running toward the helipad now, but none of them were Seth.

  “We need to find all of them,” Dr. Weber told the two soldiers. “Go.”

  “We’ll look, too!” Petra said.

  “No. You two stay here,” said a voice behind her, familiar even though it was muffled behind a pollen mask.

  Petra turned to see the gaunt face of the man who’d torn her away from her parents, interrogated her, and handed her over to Ritter. Colonel Pearson strode over from the other helicopter with four soldiers. In alarm, Petra whirled to Dr. Weber.

  “It’s all right,” Dr. Weber assured her.

  “How can it be all right?” she demanded. “He’s the one who sent us here!”

  “I’ll explain later. Trust me, please.”

  Petra saw the colonel take in her tail, the black-and-gold patterning darkening her arms. Then his eyes went to Anaya. Petra wondered if he even recognized her, now that her face was matted with fine hairs. As usual, Pearson’s expression revealed little.

  “Get on board,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

  Two of his soldiers took up positions around the helicopters, and the other two hurried up the hill, trying to corral more kids.

  Reluctantly Petra climbed into the helicopter with Anaya. Up front the two pilots hunched tensely over their glimmering instruments, ready for a quick takeoff. Petra stayed next to the hatch so she could see what was happening outside.

  Dr. Weber was talking quietly to Pearson, but the whole time she watched the hill anxiously. With a tightening of her heart, Petra remembered how Dr. Weber had asked Seth if she could be his foster mother. The very day everything fell apart.

  Silently she called for Seth, but nothing came back.

  “Have you tried to reach him?” she asked Anaya.

  She nodded. “Nothing.”

  Some more kids, breathless and sweaty, piled aboard.

  “Have you seen Seth?” Petra asked them.

  “I think I saw him go into the woods,” said a tall swimmer named Kawhi.

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “How about Esta or Charles?” Anaya asked.

  “Esta was with him, yeah.”

  Petra’s chest tightened. For the first time she wondered if Seth was doing this on purpose. Hiding away, not answering. Him and Esta against the world.

  She leaned out the hatchway and called to Dr. Weber. “Seth might be in the woods. A bunch of kids went to hide there.”

  She saw a soldier speak into a shoulder mic, relaying the information.

  Petra sat back and asked Anaya, “You think all the flyers are sticking together or something?”

  More kids climbed inside the helicopter, looking unsure about the whole thing.

  “Is this safe?” Paolo whispered, light flickering off his glasses.

  “Yes,” Petra said.

  “But these guys are soldiers, too!”

  “They’re not working for Ritter,” Anaya said, and Petra hoped she was right. She felt her tail tapping restlessly against the back of the seat and stopped it.

  Outside, a group of kids were being corralled down the hill by Pearson’s soldiers. They were still too far away for her to tell if Seth was among them.

  “These are the last,” she heard Pearson tell Weber. “Once they’re aboard, we go.”

  —Seth, are you there? she called out desperately.

  From the bunker’s main entrance, guards poured out, then stopped dead in their tracks. They seemed genuinely startled to see the two military helicopters.

  Nervously, Petra looked toward the hill. The kids and soldiers were almost at the bottom but still had to cross the parking lot to reach the helipad. There was a shout from the bunker guards, and an abrupt stutter of light and gunfire. Petra heard something ping off the helicopter’s fuselage.

  A soldier leaned in and told them to buckle up, then slammed the hatch shut.

  Petra pressed her face to the small window. The last of the kids were running, crouched over, around cars, as their soldier escort returned fire. None of the kids were Seth.

  Her eyes flashed back up the hillside, still hoping to see his shape hurtling toward them.

  The hatch was yanked open and she almost toppled out onto Pearson.

  “Buckle up!” he roared at her.

  Dr. Weber climbed into the cabin, and two soldiers jumped in after her.

  “Take it up!” Pearson hollered at the pilots.

  “We don’t have Seth!” Petra wailed.

  The rotor blades whined as they accelerated.

  “We’re out of time!” Pearson shouted, then slammed the hatch and ran for the other helicopter.

  “No!” Petra cried. The rotor’s beat became a single urgent note.

  Dr. Weber looked at her, mute with misery. Her own cheeks were wet.

  “Bugs!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Ten o’clock.”

  Petra caught a glimpse of yellow-and-black worms breaking through the asphalt like it was tissue paper. The gunfire faltered, then redoubled. These worms looked much bigger than the ones she’d seen inside the bunker. As if drawn by the vibrations—or the smell of metal—two humped across the parking lot toward the helicopters, eating through any car in their path.

  “Take it up!” the soldier hollered at the pilots.

  “We’re heavy,” one of the pilots barked. “Didn’t know there’d be this many!”

  Petra saw a worm open its turbine mouth. She knew it could chomp through them like a pretzel.

  “Up-up-up!” yelled the soldiers.

  Sluggishly the helicopter lifted. The worm actually reared up on its tail and lunged. Its jaws narrowly missed the landing gear. Petra breathed again. Below her, the worm fell away, the parking lot, the bunker, the woods.

  And somewhere down there, Seth.

  SETH STEPPED OUT FROM the trees, waving his arms wildly.

  “Wait! Wait! I’m here!”

  Both helicopters thundered past and kept going. Esta grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the cover of the forest.

  —Quiet! she told him.

  He couldn’t find words, his mind was so fogged with grief.

  He should’ve made a run for the helipad sooner. Why hadn’t he? W
hen the helicopters first appeared, he’d thought they were reinforcements for Ritter. He’d seen soldiers with guns hopping out! They’d corralled kids and marched them down the hill toward the copters—and Pearson.

  But then he’d seen Dr. Weber.

  Since coming to the bunker, he’d built so many hard thoughts about her, welded together from steel. How she’d given in to Pearson, helped him even. How she’d let Ritter take them away. How she was just using them all along. How she’d told him she wanted to be his foster mother so she could keep studying him like a lab rat. How she was no different from Ritter.

  But seeing her now was like an earthquake, shaking the foundations of all these thoughts. He didn’t know why she was with Pearson. He didn’t know what it meant. But she was here. She’d come.

  —She came to rescue us! he blurted out to Esta.

  —How d’you know? All we saw was a bunch of soldiers rounding up kids! She’s working for the military, Seth!

  —Paul must’ve called her! She came for us! She came for me!

  Esta squeezed his hand and said:

  —Then why’d she leave you behind?

  It felt like a punch to the stomach.

  —There was gunfire! And the worms! They had to take off!

  He was trying to convince himself, too.

  —They left all the flyers behind, Seth.

  He looked at the small group of kids around them, crouched tensely among the trees. Charles. Darren, unfortunately. And Vincent and Siena.

  Was Esta right? Did the flyers get left behind on purpose? Maybe not even Dr. Weber wanted them anymore. Too dangerous.

  A small keening voice welled up inside him. How could you do that to me? After what you said to me? About being my foster mom.

  What an idiot he was. Whenever he hoped for something, it only made it worse. With his own mother. With Mr. and Mrs. Antos back on Salt Spring. With Dr. Weber.

  She’d rescued some of the kids but not him. Maybe she’d even seen him and still gone ahead and left. His sadness burned off under the hot glare of his swelling anger.

  —We have to go, Esta told him gently.

  She was right. Of course she was right. Of all the people in the world, she was really the only one he could trust.

  He glanced back at the bunker entrance. Floodlights now illuminated the parking lot and helipad, where two worms humped toward a power pylon and started tearing into the lower struts. Gunfire pocked the night as the guards blasted away at a couple of worms burrowing back into the earth. Flashlight beams started skittering around the hillside. They’d come looking.

  “This way,” Seth said, and led them deeper into the trees. His bare feet crackled against dead vines, but he kept his eyes wide in the dying light. He didn’t know how much of the forest had been sprayed. He remembered the vines from the eco-reserve, snaring your feet, pulling you toward pit plants or hauling you into the air by your neck to let you hang.

  “Where we going?” hissed Darren behind him.

  Seth wasn’t thrilled to have Darren in tow. He’d finked on them, told Ritter about the sound weapon.

  “Far away as possible,” Seth said.

  “We’ll make better time on the road.” Darren pointed through the trees.

  “Not safe,” said Seth. “There’s pit plants.”

  “Not if it’s in a Spray Zone.”

  “Then there’ll be traffic,” said Charles. “And we look like we just escaped from prison.”

  Esta took a few steps closer to the road. “Train tracks.”

  Seth saw the crossing up ahead, the rails dull silver in the twilight. He followed Esta out from the trees and walked carefully alongside the road to the crossing. In both directions, the rail corridor passed through forest. Seth noticed that on either side of the tracks, the black grass was dead and cracked. Same with the yellow vines in the trees.

  “They’re spraying it,” said Charles. “Must be important tracks.”

  It made an irresistible road. “Come on,” said Seth.

  He ran to the rails. No snarling vines. No pit plants. Who knew which way they were headed? But that didn’t matter now. They needed to put as much distance between themselves and the bunker as possible.

  They ran along the tracks. When he first heard the blare of a whistle, he thought it was some kind of alarm from the bunker. But it seemed too close, and then he felt the vibration through his feet.

  “Off the tracks!” he shouted.

  The train still hadn’t come into view, but he didn’t want the engineer seeing a bunch of panicked kids in jumpsuits. They’d be reported, fast. He took cover with everyone in the trees and waited as the locomotive trundled past.

  It was a long freight, a motley collection of tankers and boxcars.

  —Let’s get on, Esta said.

  He’d only ever seen this done in movies.

  —We’re getting on, he heard her tell everyone. This is our express ticket out of here!

  They broke from the trees at a sprint. Charles was the fastest, with his powerful legs, but Seth and the others managed to match the speed of the train. It felt so good to move, and he couldn’t help laughing at the sheer relief of it—the same kind of ecstatic movement from his dreams. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw an open boxcar coming up.

  —That one!

  Seth pulled as close to the tracks as possible, feeling the train’s noisy machine heat. Charles beat him aboard, vaulting in like he’d used a springboard. When Seth made his own jump, Charles’s hands were ready to pull him inside. Together they helped bring the others aboard.

  Catching his breath, he looked at everyone, counting them. Six. That wasn’t bad. He wished Anaya and Petra were with him. His wish turned hard. They’d left him behind, too.

  But he had Esta. And Siena, and Vincent. All the strongest ones. The unbidden thought startled him. Did he truly think of himself as stronger than Petra or Anaya? It was pointless to lie to himself. The sharpness of their wings, the weapons in their heads. Esta was right—they were by far the most powerful cryptogens.

  He slumped against the juddering boxcar wall. He felt like he’d been running forever.

  “So,” said Vincent, “what’s the plan?”

  Seth shrugged, too exhausted to think.

  “Which way are we even going?” Darren asked.

  Seth leaned his head out the open door. The tracks ran straight. Dead ahead, the orange rim of the sun was about to disappear over the horizon.

  He ducked back in, slamming the door closed.

  “West,” he said. “We’re going west.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Anaya asked above the thump of the rotor blades.

  In the cramped cabin, Dr. Weber passed around blankets and bottles of water. Every hard, uncomfortable seat was taken, and a few kids sat on the metal floor, scrunched up small, arms wrapped around their knees. Even so, plenty of them had already fallen asleep. Anaya was startled by how young they suddenly looked—these same kids who’d fought guards, climbed an elevator shaft, seen monsters.

  Slumped beside her, Petra had cried herself to sleep after unsuccessfully begging the soldiers and pilots to turn around and find Seth.

  “We’re going back to Deadman’s Island,” Dr. Weber said.

  Anaya nodded. She’d thought as much, though she still didn’t understand what had happened to change Pearson’s mind. And she was too weary to ask right now.

  “Thank you,” she said instead. “For coming to get us.”

  Dr. Weber came closer and put her warm hands over Anaya’s cold ones.

  “I tried to come sooner. I’ve been worried sick about you poor kids.”

  It had been a while since Anaya had heard such kind words, and she was afraid they’d start her crying. She was ashamed at how relieved she felt, because there was so much that wasn’t right. Seth and the others, missing. The entire world, falling apart.

  “My parents?”

  “Fine. They’re waitin
g for you at the base.”

  This time she did start crying—it seemed too impossibly good to be true.

  “After Ritter took you three away, Pearson put me in lockup, same as your parents. He only let me out when the eggs started hatching worldwide and he wanted me to get working on vaccines. Every single day I tried to convince Pearson to get you kids released. But he wouldn’t shift. Not until he got the call from Paul Samson at the bunker.”

  Anaya snuck a guilty glance at Petra. She’d been right all along about trusting Paul, but Anaya hadn’t believed her. No one had. Mostly they’d just been furious with her for sharing information with him and Ritter.

  Dr. Weber gave her hand a squeeze. “Paul told Colonel Pearson about the experiments Ritter was planning. I’m so, so sorry for everything that’s happened.”

  Anaya nodded. “There’s a lot to tell.”

  “It can wait,” Dr. Weber said. “Sleep.”

  Which was what she wanted, more than anything. To forget for a little while and feel safe. Somehow, folded against Petra’s body, she found a comfortable position. Before long came that delicious drifty feeling that heralded sleep. The rhythmic noise of the helicopter became a cocoon that she was warm inside.

  And in that half sleep there was suddenly someone with her: an amber light, the familiar deep, earthy smell of soil. This time, it was Anaya who spoke first.

  —What’s your name?

  Of all the questions she might have asked, this was not the most crucial. But it was the first to occur to her, and she truly wanted to know who she was talking to.

  —Name?

  The word echoed back, carrying an aura of confusion. And was it even a word she heard? No, it was just how Anaya translated the idea that was being sent to her. It hit home now: she and the cryptogen had no shared language. Their brains were simply translating their ideas as best they could. She tried again.

  —My name is Anaya.

  But this time she tried to send not just words—which seemed so clunky—but a mental picture of herself, the essence of herself, how she felt inside her body right now. The ache in her legs, the quick beat of her heart, the excitement and fear coursing through every vein. This is me, she tried to say.