“I did what I had to do to get to this point. I was on my way to Sanctum with Talon to begin peace negotiations when we crashed and you found us. But you’ll understand everything soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans toward me and Digory squeezes his bulk between us, shoving Cassius back into his seat. Their eyes are deadlocked—Digory’s filled with that savage fury, Cassius’s widen with fear.
“Relax, Tycho,” Cassius grunts. “I’m not going to hurt your precious little Lucky.”
Part of me wouldn’t mind one bit watching Digory throttle Cassius. Hell, I’ve been resisting doing much worse ever since we first ran into him. But now’s not the time for that.
I touch Digory’s arm, feeling the hot blood pounding underneath the rock-hard muscle. “Digory, let it go. I’m okay.”
Slowly, he settles back down into his chair. But his eyes target Cassius’s face like ice-blue daggers.
The glider transport starts to slow down as it approaches a series of silver towers surrounding a circular courtyard. Cassius takes a deep breath, rubs his chest where Digory’s palm hit, and shakes his head at us as if he’s disappointed. “I would have thought you two, of all people, would be thrilled by the prospect of the Establishment’s downfall.”
My eyes grow wide.
“Just what do you mean?” I ask. “You don’t expect Talon and the Establishment to just throw down their weapons and make nice, do you?”
He shakes his head. “Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be an eventful day.”
Before I can respond, we’ve stopped at the entrance to a housing facility and are escorted by silent Fleshers to our quarters.
With all the distance between Sanctum and the surface, I can’t help feeling more trapped than ever.
thirty-two
I can’t sleep. Even curled up against the warm contours of Digory’s bare chest and listening to the rhythmic lull of his heart, all I can think about is what tomorrow may bring.
What did Cassius mean?
If by some miracle the Establishment can be persuaded to rejoin the fold and the people of Sanctum are willing to share their knowledge and resources with the Parish, it will mean a whole different life for all of us—one free of fear and suffering. No more rebellions. No more war. We can finally have a life where we can dare to hope, knowing that our dreams are within our grasp.
We’ll be able to live together as families and grow old together—Digory and I can raise Cole. I feel excited, almost giddy, as I imagine this future. It’s an emotion I’ve never really felt before, and one I never imagined I ever would.
I look up at Digory. Even in the dim light, I take in that perfectly handsome face, my finger lightly tracing the angle of his jaw. He looks so peaceful in sleep. It’s as if the underlying pain that now simmers just beneath his eyes has been wiped clean, leaving a fresh canvas full of possibilities.
My lips brush against his and I feel myself getting even more excited. But as much as I want him, I fight the urge to wake him. He’s been through so much. Let him enjoy a restful sleep.
Sliding my body from his arms takes every ounce of willpower I can muster, and once I’m free I slip on some clothes and pad out of the room as quickly as I can before I change my mind.
I spend a few hours using a tool kit I found in one of the closets to repair the tiny transceiver I’ve kept hidden in the lining of my pants. Not sure it’ll work, but at least there’s a chance I might be able to contact Cage and Arrah now.
Then I trot up the carpeted steps of the penthouse suite we’ve been assigned and open the door leading out onto the roof.
I still haven’t gotten used to seeing the four different horizons, but the cool, artificially created winds tingling my skin invigorate me. Though we’re not housed in the tallest building in Sanctum, we’re high enough that I have a bird’s-eye view of most of the city.
The streets seem utterly deserted, a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle when we first arrived. Maybe they’re all sleeping, but I’d have guessed with the upcoming peace talks, followed by a diplomatic mission to the Parish, there’d be a lot more activity going on.
I shrug and am just about to turn around and go back inside when I spot movement in the night quadrant—what appears to be a procession of white-clad personnel leading a line of gleaming steel cargo containers toward a processing plant. They disappear inside.
The elation I’ve been feeling shifts into alarm, then suspicion. What was it Straton said when he was giving us a tour of Sanctum? That the plant has been closed for some time, sealed off due to hazardous conditions. Whatever’s inside couldn’t be too lethal, though, given that no one in the procession seemed to be wearing any kind of protective bio-suit.
My Imposer training kicks into high gear. That gut feeling I had earlier shoves my optimism out of the way. I need to investigate this. If I’m wrong, then there’s no harm done.
But if I’m right—
I turn around and my heart almost stops as I plow into Digory. I didn’t even hear him come up behind me. I let out a nervous chuckle as he grabs my arms and steadies me, curiosity and concern battling it out on his face.
Throwing my arms around him, I hug him tight. “Sorry if I woke you.”
He kisses my forehead, hugging me back. When we finally pull apart, he’s looking at me with imploring eyes.
“I think something’s going on,” I say.
Then I tell him what I saw at the processing plant and how I want to take a look and see what’s going on there. He nods and motions to me, then himself, then points at the plant, now silent and cloaked in shadow.
I smile at him. “Sure. You can come. Just try to keep up.”
He smiles back.
We slip into a pair of fresh white jumpsuits that have been left for us in the closet. Hand in hand, we scurry down the stairs and make our way to the door of the suite. We glance at each other as I slowly turn the knob and crack it open, peering into the hallway.
Standing sentinel by the elevator doors are two Fleshers, their bulky forms barely able to fit in the cramped space. Their haunting faces stare straight ahead, blank and expressionless as if they were dead.
Why do I get the feeling they aren’t going to let us pass if we try to board?
Easing the door closed again, I turn back to Digory. “We’re going to have to figure out a way to get past those two.”
We look around the room on the off chance that there’s another way out, but of course there isn’t. At one point, Digory hoists me onto his broad shoulders as I check the ceiling for ducts we might be able to use to bypass the hallway, but the crawlspace isn’t large enough and it doesn’t appear that there’s access to the elevator shafts.
That leaves only one more option.
Opening the balcony doors, I lean against the railing and stare down. Fifteen stories to ground level.
“We’ve scaled higher drops than this,” I say, recalling our Recruit training at Infiernos. Of course we didn’t have to worry about being in plain view of anyone who might happen to be looking in this direction.
Digory sidles up to me and grins. Before I can say a word, he’s already grabbed onto the railing and swung his body over the edge in one fluid movement.
“Careful!” I whisper.
He pivots his body until his feet perch on the railing below. Then he steadies himself and releases one of his hands, using it to brace himself against the underside of the flooring of our balcony, which rests right above the balcony below.
I hold my breath, my heart racing as he lets go of the railing with his second hand and drops onto the landing beneath us.
Then he looks up at me with a sly grin, as if he’s wondering what’s taking me so long.
I shake my head and give him a wink. “Show-off.”
Taking a deep breath, I grab onto the railing just like Digory did—well, maybe I’m not as lithe—and in seconds I’ve joined him on the landing below, where he sweeps me into his arms.
His eyes swell with pride and he kisses my lips one more time before letting go and bounding down to the next balcony. I follow him as before, making sure not to stare at the drop but instead concentrate on him to steady me. Within ten minutes we reach the ground. “Let’s move,” I say.
We look left and right, then make a diagonal dash toward the processing plant. We reach the shadow of a communications tower, twenty feet or so from a metallic fence that extends the entire perimeter of the plant.
I scoop up a handful of pebbles and fling them at the fence. They’re instantly vaporized in a ball of sparks.
“You don’t fortify an abandoned plant,” I whisper. “This proves they’re hiding something, at least.”
A low vibration fills the air. Digory and I exchange a quick look, then peer in the direction of the sound.
Whizzing down the path leading to the front entrance of the plant is one of the glider transport vehicles. I barely have time to register it as Digory pulls me into the shadows of the tower.
We wait and watch, trying not to breathe too heavily as the vehicle slows and reaches the gate. There’s a burst of static from inside the craft, and a murmur of voices too low to hear. In seconds, the energized hum disappears and the gate begins to open.
Digory’s already grabbing my hand and we dart toward the back of the transport, leaping at the last possible moment and grabbing hold of the back fins as it goes through the gate. I grit my teeth and don’t dare to breathe, staring wordlessly at Digory opposite me and hoping our maneuver was smooth enough not to attract any unwanted attention.
We’re through the fence in seconds and there’s a crackle as it’s re-energized. We continue to hug the back of the carrier, pressed as flat against its hull as we can. It speeds down a diagonal ramp and disappears into the bowels of the processing plant.
As soon as we’re inside, the heavy steel doors slam shut. There’s no question they’re keeping something in here they don’t want anyone to see.
The transport continues its descent, one sub-level after another, as if we weren’t already far enough underground as it is. At least it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed we’re still hitching a ride. But who knows how long that’s going to last.
A few minutes later, the transport begins to slow as it approaches a fork in the passage. I catch Digory’s eye, motioning with my head that the ride’s over.
He gets my signal and leaps off the vehicle, rolling across the ground and into a darkened side passage. I spring after him and hit the ground hard, banging my shoulder but continuing to unspool into the gloom.
Digory crawls up beside me and together we watch from the shadows as the vehicle stops. Straton disembarks, along with his Fleshers, who surround the transport as he enters a doorway that seals behind him.
Good thing we bailed when we did.
Digory touches my shoulder and I wince. He rests his palm on my cheek.
“It’s okay. I’m good,” I say.
I risk a peek from our hiding place. “There’s no way we can follow him inside.” Then I peer into the passage behind us. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do some recon of the rest of this place.”
He nods and we slink down the passageway. The walls are dark and smooth except for every twenty-five feet or so, where supports jut from the walls all the way up to the arched ceiling like skeletal joints. The farther we go, the more humid and muggy it becomes. I wipe the sweat from my brow as a fine layer of mist begins to obscure the corridor ahead. There’s a low vibration in the air, getting stronger the farther we go. My ears detect a pulse, a throbbing sound. The walls become rougher, feeling almost like there’s a rough, thick coat on them. It’s almost like it’s elemental, natural, not man-made. Like a nest.
Or a hive.
I turn to Digory, who’s now barely a silhouette in my vision. “Wonder what the hell they’re keeping down here?”
We round a corner. The hall dead-ends into one of the most bizarre chambers I’ve ever seen. It’s a cross between the most gleaming, sophisticated tech that I can imagine and a primordial display of pulsing, tentacular appendages blended together in obscene symbiosis.
The center of the room is filled with rows and rows of capsules arranged in concentric circles; they remind me of cryogenic tubes. Their glass surfaces perspire with droplets of moisture, which makes the interiors opaque. Snakelike, scaly tubes descend from a nest of computer terminals suspended from the ceiling and feed into each of the capsules. I approach the nearest one and wipe the condensation away. I’m surprised to find it frosty, considering the heat being generated by all the blinking gauges and equipment in the chamber. Beneath the glass surface, I can barely make out a dark figure lying perfectly still in the thick, swirling cryogenic fog.
At the head of each of these capsules are digital readout displays that seem to be monitoring the vital signs of the patients inside. But these readouts track power levels and electrical impulses, which is odd. The data seems more like the kind of information you’d get from diagnostic and performance tests given to machinery and equipment, not to live human beings.
Digory looks up at me from the capsule he’s been examining, a puzzled look in his eyes that I’m sure is reflected on my own face.
“Let’s open one,” I say.
He joins me and together we comb the surface of a capsule, searching for the release mechanism to spring open its hatch.
After a few minutes of trying in vain, I slam my palm against the glass. “There’s got to be a button that opens this thing.”
But Digory doesn’t seem to think so. He leaps onto the pod and tears out one of the tubes feeding the pod with his bare hands.
I check to make sure no one’s coming. “Or we can do it that way.”
The hose hisses like an angry serpent. Digory wraps it around his fist and pummels the glass shield. A crack appears on the cryotube, which splinters into a thousand crystal streams before it’s punctured with an earsplitting crack.
The moment the container is breached, the lid bursts open with an arctic blast of mist, evaporating the sweat pooling on my body in an instant. I wave my hand until the haze dissipates enough for me to peer down at the capsule’s occupant.
A familiar-looking face stares up at me. And for a second, I think I’ve lost it.
It’s Crowley. Or at least a part of him. His naked torso seems intact, but his arms and everything from the waist down are covered in foul-smelling slime. It’s some kind of bio-synthetic cocoon. Wires and tubes slice into his skin as if he were a human pincushion. I can see flashing lights beneath the gooey membranes and hear the sickening squish as the substance fuses with Crowley’s skin, which has turned from the pale chalk color it was the last time I saw him to a sickly greenish tint.
Cassius announced that Crowley was dead. Seeing him like this, I wish it were true.
I lean closer to get a better look, and that’s when his hand darts up in a flash and grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. His eyes spring open, irises milky white.
Digory’s at my side in a flash, but I wave him off.
In spite of the horrific condition Crowley is in, there’s something truly pitiful in the way he’s looking at me, a mixture of fright and complete and utter dread that shreds my insides.
“Spark,” he whispers, his voice a thin rasp of its former self. As he speaks, noxious liquid dribbles from the corners of his lips.
I grip the hand that’s clutching me. “What have they done to you, Crowley?”
Milky white tears ooze from his eyes. “They’re changing me … making me one of them … ”
His voice trails off, but I don’t need him to finish to know who them is.
Fles
hers.
“We’re going to get you out of here.” Even as I say the words, my eyes dart across what’s left of his body and I feel helpless and frustrated.
He shakes his head. “Too late. No time. This whole place … ”
His eyes wander for a few seconds. “All of these people … prisoners … Incentives that survived … they change them … turn them into … ” His face screws up and an agonized mewl twists from his throat.
My body is racked with the shakes. Crowley is delirious with pain. That’s why he’s talking such craziness. The Incentives that survived … the loved ones of all the Imps … they can’t be in this place. I’ve seen Imposers communicating with their kin at Haven, carrying on conversations in real time. It’s the one carefully greased cog in the machine that keeps them following orders: knowing that those they care about are at least being taken care of, living a life they would otherwise have no chance at, all thanks to the sacrifice the Recruits have made. The continued well-being of what, in essence, are Establishment hostages is at the core of its lethally trained forces.
I scan the room, my eyes darting from one control panel to the next. “There must be a terminal—some kind of control panel with a database,” I tell Digory, my tone breathless with the possibilities.
Digory takes my cue. Between the two of us, we comb the lab until minutes later he’s ushering me over to a keyboard inlaid in an alcove in the far corner.
I scroll through the entries. A list of names I don’t recognize at first. But as I near the end of the chronological list, the entries become more familiar to me. Residents of the Parish. Old friends and neighbors. People who served as Incentives for those who were selected in Recruitments just prior to my own.
On a hunch, I search for Cassius’s name on the roster. But all details of his own Recruitment are missing.
Did he wipe the information from the system? If so, why?
What’s he hiding?
By this time the keys are slick with my sweat as I toggle through the names and come across the Incentives of Arrah, Rodrigo, Leander, and Dahlia. I select the names by Arrah—
The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) Page 26