The Variables (Virulent Book 3)

by Wescott, Shelbi

  Private Ryley lunged for Dean’s gun, but Dean stepped back in time and Ryley stumbled forward, landing on the carpet. Darla landed a soft kick to his side; he began to cough. He swore at them and kicked his legs.

  “You’ll die here,” he said between gasps. “There’s no way out.”

  “Where is everyone else?” Dean asked.

  “Up,” was all he replied.

  “Is there an elevator override?”

  He nodded. “I have keys,” he said. Darla kicked him in the ribs again. She felt inside his jacket pocket and tossed out a key ring with six shiny silver keys.

  “Tell me what’s happening. What do you mean we’re going to die here? What’s happening?” Darla yelled and she held the gun to him.

  “You’re the type of filth we were sworn to keep out,” Ryley said monotonously. “You don’t deserve to live. And if you somehow make it out of here alive, then you won’t make it anywhere near that boy. Or the Kings. Do you hear me?”

  “Private Ryley,” the woman’s voice said again on the walkie. “We don’t want to continue without you, but—”

  There was a loud beeping, like a fire drill. It filled the apartment. The lights flickered. The woman’s voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie ceased to broadcast. She had been cut-off midsentence. Darla and Dean looked up, startled by the loud noise.

  “All Copia residents please report to The Center for briefing. All Copia residents please report to The Center for a housing briefing.”

  “It’s time,” Ryley said. “You’re dead now.” He scrambled up on his feet and attacked Darla, pushed her straight over on to the floor, his hands wrapped around her middle. Darla kept her gun out of reach and attempted to kick him, but her feet missed. Dean looked at them and called out to Darla, but there was no easy shot, they were just a blur of bodies on the ground. He set the walkie-talkie down on the couch and then rushed over to where Darla was losing the fight. With his left hand he tried to yank the man off of Darla, but Ryley was too strong. He had pinned down her arm and he was grasping for the gun. Darla gritted her teeth, veins pulsed in her head, and she screamed.

  Noticing her bandages, Ryley took her injured hand and crushed it into the floor, banging her wrist and her hand with methodical maliciousness. She shrieked. Then he stopped slamming her hand and he dug his fingers into her wound and blood seeped through the gauze and down her arm. Darla writhed in pain; her hair fell loose from its ponytail and covered her face, long strands caught in her mouth. Darla’s grip loosened on the gun and she lost control and dropped it to the floor where Ryley was quick to snatch it up. He brought the gun up to her temple without hesitation.

  “Sorry,” he said, but his tone was fully victorious.

  A blast echoed.

  Ryley’s body jerked and went limp and fell down onto Darla. She screamed and pushed him off of her, and his body rolled to the carpet. Blood poured out of the wound in the back of his head, creating a pool underneath him. Darla looked down and realized her clothes were covered in speckles of blood. Her hands were covered in blood. She let out a shaky cry and scrambled backward.

  Above them, the siren still beeped and beeped and beeped.

  Dean stood frozen. His hand still holding the gun where Ryley’s head used to be.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Darla said. “Oh...oh...oh...”

  “There was no other way,” Dean whispered. He spun to Darla. “There was no other way.” His eyes were wide and wild.

  She nodded. “Yeah. No other way. He was going...to kill me...”

  “I killed him,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She looked away and wiped her hands on her pants. Ryley’s blood smeared across her palms. “Dean, there was no other way. One more second and I would be dead. You did what you had to do...”

  “I killed him,” Dean said again and he dropped the gun to the floor and sunk to the carpet, looking at the man’s lifeless body, the blood still spreading outward across the industrial carpet.

  “Let’s go,” Darla said and she took back her gun from Ryley’s hand. It was then she noticed she was shaking. She tried to calm herself, but she couldn’t. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Back up to the surface?” Dean asked.

  Darla nodded. “Something bad is going to happen here. Let’s just go. We know the way. Grab his keys and let’s go.”

  Reaching down, Dean grabbed the keys. He took the radio, and they started back out down the hall—the incessant beep as the background music to their escape. When they reached the hallway, they opened the door and stumbled forward to the elevators. They pushed the button and waited. It arrived without fanfare.

  “Hurry, hurry,” Dean said.

  The elevator stopped. The doors opened. It took Dean a second to realize that they had not traveled to the floor they had wanted; they had stopped early. Dean pushed the button again and jiggled Ryley’s override keys, but the elevator didn’t budge. He swore and kicked the side, but still it didn’t move.

  “Come on,” Darla said and she tugged Dean’s arm and pulled him off the elevator. They rushed out on to the new floor. It looked exactly like the floor they had just come from, like a carnival fun maze. Grabbing a knob, they ran into a new hallway, and it was also identical to the one below. She stepped backward and spun.

  There was a second elevator. She pushed the button, but nothing happened.

  “Do they know we’re here? Did they stop the elevators?” Dean asked.

  “Let’s hide until we know,” Darla commanded and she raced back down the hallway. Slowing down their pace until they realized that the hallway was a dead-end. Darla turned to walk back toward the elevator.

  “What the hell is this place?” Dean called, out of breath.

  Darla slid to the floor and tucked her knees up tight.

  The radio crackled and Dean jumped.

  A man’s voice came on this time. “Blair, do you copy?”

  “I’m here,” the woman said.

  “We have activity in a Clearance Level 1 area.”

  The girl they called Blair got back on the radio. “Could it be Private Ryley?”

  “Could be. I just wanted you to know. Elevator analysis says someone went to Floor B. We set the elevator shut-down sequence after that, so I have no idea where the person could be now.”

  “That’s the Kings’ and Salvants’ floor? Which pod door was triggered?”

  “Pod 6, Ma’am.”

  The radio went quiet. Darla could hear her own labored breathing. She closed her eyes and banged her head three times against the wall behind her: soft, but angry thuds. Dean took his hand and rested it on top of her head.

  “Stop,” he whispered. “They don’t know about us.”

  “Can you check it out?” Blair asked on the radio.

  The guy clicked back on. “Ms. Truman, Ma’am, we’re all set here. All residents of Copia are accounted for in the Center. We’re on time for our operation.”

  “But...if it was Ryley,” she said.

  “We don’t have an extra person to supply you for checking it out. But if you want to look yourself, Ma’am, we have ten minutes before evacuation.”

  There was a pause. Then the girl said, “I’ll go to Pod 6. I’ll take my dad’s direct elevator. Turn back on the power and I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  “Copy that.” The radio broadcast was cut.

  Darla exhaled and she rocked forward and stood up quickly. With determination she moved back down the hall. “We have to get to the top...now,” she said and she jogged back the way they came. Their elevator was still waiting for them and they jiggled the override keys; the doors shut, and this time the elevator began to climb. They moved steadily upward. Back to the floor where they first found Ryley, back to the hallway that led to their escape.

  Dean put a comforting arm around Darla’s shoulders and embraced her.

  She let out a small sob and then she looked to the ceiling, a
ttempting to regain control. “We failed,” she said. “He’s not here. He’s not even here.”

  “We didn’t fail,” Dean answered. “Teddy’s alive...” he paused, overcome with emotion. “We know he’s okay. And we’ll find him...that’s not a failure...”

  “We’re leaving here without him. That, to me, is a failure.”

  “The Islands. We’ll find him...you hear me...we will find him...”

  “This was a shitshow. How can we take on an even bigger place with more security...especially after they see what we did?” Darla asked, her eyes wide.

  Dean shrugged. “We just will.”

  The radio crackled again.

  A man said, “We are in place. All guards are ready. Officer Dylan...can you confirm you have eyes on Grant?”

  The name caused Darla’s veins to run cold, and she spun and pointed at the radio. Dean held the walkie-talkie out like it had suddenly turned scalding hot and he stared at it. He thrust it out at her and shook it, wordlessly.

  “I can confirm,” came a voice. “Grant is visible.”

  “Oh my God,” Dean breathed.

  Darla smiled and cried and jumped. Her hair flew and she clapped with wild excitement. “It’s him! Dean, oh, Dean!” She wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged him tightly.

  “Shhhh,” Dean said and he put the radio to his ear, Darla leaned close, her arms around him.

  “Good. Keep an eye on him,” the man on the radio said.

  “Where are they?” Darla asked. “Oh, Dean! He’s here...” and she broke into an uninhibited grin.

  From somewhere else underground within the giant metal dome, the man on the walkie-talkie said, “With eyes on Grant...and Copia secluded, I believe we are go. All officers...that is a confirmed launch. Launch. Launch.”

  “We head to the tunnel,” Dean said. “There’s only one exit. We wait there until we know what’s going on.”

  Darla nodded. She looked at the array of buttons; the only one lit was the one for the top level. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Grant was here. Somewhere in this crazy subterranean city, Dean’s son was alive and well.

  After a brief radio silence, they heard Blair’s screams wail at them through the speaker. “Help! Help! Can anyone hear me?” Her voice was shaky, like she was running.

  “Sorry, Blair....can’t really discuss now...in the middle...” a rushed voice replied.

  “Can you confirm we are all accounted for?” Blair screamed. “Confirm! Confirm!”

  “I can confirm,” came the man’s voice. “All Copia. All guards. Grant. And your damn dog. Get up here, Blair. Five minutes.”

  “Then we have intruders. I repeat. I repeat. We have intruders. Private Ryley’s been shot. We are not alone down here!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grant was lonely without Lucy. The System was practically barren, and he found himself wandering the evacuated halls, drifting in and out of abandoned rooms, and examining the articles left behind as an archeologist would study the artifacts at an excavation site. It was a hobby he adopted in the absence of any other way to while away the hours waiting for the plane to Copia to arrive.

  His other option was spending his time with Noah, the pimply hyena-esque parasite who hovered around Grant like they had been friends the entire time. Escaping Noah had become an art form, and Grant had taken to spending time with his roommate Dylan and the other guards left behind to watch over the Copia residents and get the System ready for its final days.

  Each of the guards assigned to the System was right out of a clichéd military movie: they congregated in one of the larger apartments, played card games, smoked contraband cigarettes and cigars, and drank up the rest of the Sky Room’s alcohol supply; they laughed and joked, poked fun at each other’s lives before the Release, and engaged each other in good-spirited banter. Ex-girlfriends were maligned and mocked, drinking war wounds were compared. They self-medicated to ignore the loneliness, refusing to face their heartache straight on.

  And all the while, the Copia residents were getting restless. When they voiced their concerns, they were easily appeased with news of their new home. That was Blair’s job, and she was excellent at it—spending her days in and among the leftover families, lauding them with praise for their deep contributions to the future, despite their angry and entitled attitudes. Huck had been right to leave her behind; Blair’s presence reassured them.

  Some of the Copia families were insufferable, interrupting the guards’ card games to demand a video conference with Huck. When they were denied, they launched into meticulously crafted diatribes. But some of them were quiet, unassuming, and Grant didn’t mind seeking out their company if he found himself in need of a conversation.

  But now the departure day had arrived.

  The entire System buzzed with expectant anticipation. Entire families would soon be summoned to the Center to hear about departure preparations. Bags were packed, backs were slapped with joyful friendliness. The tension and the angst melted away, and Grant realized that it was living underground that ate at their already frayed edges the most. Copia would be a welcomed change, and he couldn’t wait to breathe fresh air again and watch the sun move through the sky.

  “Morning,” Dylan said as he ventured out into their shared space in his boxers. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Hey,” Grant replied, putting down the book he had stolen from an empty apartment. Dylan was tall and lanky, with patches of coarse body hair growing in an asymmetrical pattern across his chest. Their other roommate had departed for his own Island the same day Lucy left, but Dylan had been assigned to stay behind in his role as a System guard. “Are you heading to the guards’ room for breakfast?”

  Dylan yawned and stretched his hands up in the air, then brought them down and tapped on his belly like a drum, beating out a small rhythmic pattern against his skin. “Busy day, dude,” he replied. “Guards might be on edge...maybe you should skip it this morning?”

  “Oh,” Grant said. He tried to stifle his disappointment. “Sure! Yeah, that makes sense. I’ve got some things I can do around here...” he glanced around the bare apartment.

  Tucking his hands into the waistband of his boxers, Dylan looked at Grant. He blinked and then took his right hand, rubbed his eyes, and yawned for a second time. “Look...”

  “Not a big deal,” Grant continued. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” He flashed his roommate a warm smile and picked the book back up and thumbed through the pages, trying to find his spot.

  “You should come. The guys’ll be fine. I don’t know what I was saying...I’m tired. Come to breakfast. I mean...it’s the last day, right?” He turned back to his room to get into his uniform. As he reached the door, he turned and looked at Grant again. “You’re a good guy, Grant. You know that?”

  Grant thought that Dylan said the last part with a bit of sadness. He had never been good with goodbyes; he didn’t want to think about having to bid his new friends farewell as they all took off to different Islands.

  “You gonna miss me, Dylan?” Grant teased. “You gotta come visit me on Copia. Or on Kymberlin, when I can get to Lucy?”

  Dylan nodded as he walked away to get dressed. “Yeah, dude,” he said with his back turned. “I’ll come visit.” He shut the door with his foot, and from behind the thin walls Grant could hear him whistling.

  Grant looked down at Salem’s necklace dangling down in front of his t-shirt before he walked into the guard’s workstation. He knew the guards wouldn’t tease him about the feminine quality of the sparkly silver chain—they each had their own talismans, and no one ever questioned much when it came to rituals. Superstition reigned supreme. Among their small band of survivors, the soldiers selected for this special task were professionals, each of them procured over time from different branches of the military. When they settled into a poker game or a movie, they naturally fell into telling their old war stories again and again. Grant had learned about eac
h of them during their evenings together.

  With a deep breath and a prayer that he wouldn’t be seen as an intruder, Grant slipped into the room. He was greeted at breakfast with stoic faces and an intense aura of concentration. They looked at him and then at Dylan. Grant knew immediately: he wasn’t supposed to be there.

  “Grant’s last morning,” Dylan said as a way of explanation and the group nodded in unison.

  “Good morning,” said Nate, a long and lean towhead with a penchant for swearing and talking about how much he missed porn. “Big day.” Nate glanced sideways at Grant and pulled out the chair next to him, patting it as an invitation.

  “I guess,” Grant replied. “I mean...it’ll be nice to get out of here.”

  A soldier named Ryley sniffed and clattered his spoon into his cereal bowl. “You all packed up?” he asked to no one in particular. A few people answered in the affirmative, and then Ryley rolled his head over to Grant. “And you?”

  “I just have a poster,” Grant said, thinking of the Romero that was rolled up back in his room. Salem’s necklace around his neck and the poster. He realized that he didn’t have any earthly possessions beyond those two items. “That’s it, I guess.”

  “Well,” Ryley replied, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, “we all got something.” The man stood up and stretched his arms to the ceiling, letting out a ghastly sigh. “What’s our timeframe? When’s the big...when’re the Copia folk coming for their meeting?”

  Nate started to respond, but Blair’s heels, clipping along in her usual rushed gait, announced her arrival before she even popped her head into the room. He waited and watched the entrance, and everyone else turned, too. Blair pushed the door and ventured in without a greeting, talking as she walked inside, without regard for whatever had been going on prior to her presence.

  “I just got off a video chat with my father from Kymberlin, and I have some things to discuss before our operation today, so please, please everybody, I need your attention.” She waltzed to a long counter on the far end of the room and pushed herself up to sit on it; she was wearing a medium length skirt that hit just above her knees, and when she crossed her legs, the boys couldn’t help but stare. Private Wendy, the only female soldier among them, punched one of the guys next to her in the arm and playfully tried to pull his gaze upward.