LEX
“This way, guys,” I whisper, stuffing the ancient map into my back pocket. I look up, taking inventory of the unfamiliar team. Gloves hadn’t just given the green light for the mission into Tesla. He seemed nearly giddy at the idea of breaking into the Institute vault. We have leave to grab whatever tech we can get our hands on. He’s wanted to breach the compound for years, but he never had a reason to risk it. I’ve given him all the reason he needs. The bribe turned out to be just the icing on the cake.
Nobel is here, of course. If Gloves will let us, and if the gods of manipulation grant us with the ability to talk him into doing it, Nobel and I try to commission ourselves on most of the same missions.
“I’m glad you’re here, bro,” I say.
“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nobel responds.
I’m always glad to have the two security personnel from the Tower with me also—Bruce and Slap Stick. I’m sure Sisson is here so she can report to Claymore about the mission, but I don’t mind because she is very good at recon. The last in our party is Journey. I’m not sure how many missions she has been on, but she loves maps and is an expert navigator. Besides, she’s the one who figured out the location of the Institute by tracking a couple of Rifters back to it.
“I found the entrance to the old coal mine,” Sisson says, not even out of breath despite what must have been a long run through the cramped tunnel.
The mine obviously hasn’t been used in a very long time. The bushes and trees have grown over the entrance, concealing it from everyone. The bushes grab at our clothing and equipment. The gears on my fake leg chew at the small twigs as I trudge through the thick undergrowth. The team follows my lead.
Once we get closer to the entrance, I feel cold cave air billowing out from the mouth of the mine. It’s moldy, damp, and smells like my hamper back at Wardenclyffe Tower. Sharp crystals poke out of the ground.
“Here you go,” Nobel says. He hands me a small flashlight.
“This is too easy,” Journey says, tucking a loose patch of her wiry red curls behind her goggles. “Why hasn’t anyone found this entrance before?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s been blocked off for years. And for another, who would be crazy enough to risk breaking into the Institute itself?” I chuckle, and the team joins me. Good. We need to break up the tension somehow. “Plus, nobody else has had Slap Stick on their side.” Slap Stick is the most noticeable of the group, partly because of his enormous height and partly because of the ominous belt of C-4 bricks slung across his body. I slap him on the shoulder not covered in explosives, and he gives me a half-smile. “So Journey, you find the sweet spot, and then Slap Stick will blow a big ol’ hole in it.”
“Yessir,” Slap Stick says, his Texan accent strong as he rubs his hands together. “I really can’t wait. I haven’t blown up anything for a week now. I’m having major withdrawal.”
Pressing a finger to my lips, I lead my team into the dark shaft. At some point, according to the map, it almost connects with a current steam tunnel. There are only a few scant feet of sandy ground separating the two. I know we’re getting close because I can hear the growl of electric turbines spinning in the chamber above us.
On my signal, we stop and wait, pressed against the cool mine wall. Roots emerge out of the walls and ceiling like veins on an old lady’s arm. As we move deeper into the cave, the growl fades to a hum, and then dies down completely until the only sound left is the light grinding sound of my prosthetic leg and the hiss as a wisp of smoke escapes it. I’m getting used to the sound, and it’s a small price to pay for not being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.
“All right, here we go,” I say, motioning for them to spread out.
To their credit, not a single member of my team shows fear. In fact, they are oozing excitement, practically vibrating with nervous energy. They drop into place, working more like a well-oiled machine than a group of teenagers on a mission that could conceivably be their last. Each one is a cog in the machine that is the Hollows—all skilled, all prepared, and all full of reckless courage.
“This is so weird,” Journey whispers to me as she taps gently on the tunnel wall, looking, I assume, for a thin spot.
“Why?” Slap Stick asks, his hand twitching over a brick of explosives.
“I think this is the first time I’ve actually done a mission in the field,” she answers, pressing her ear to the wall and tapping again.
“Really?” I ask, immediately rethinking the wisdom of having her with us.
I look at her more closely. She might be fourteen, at most, and is still green around the gills. Mentally, I curse. The last thing I need is to get distracted trying to save a rookie.
“Relax, I do stuff like this all the time,” Sisson adds from across the room.
I want to say something—something profound and wise that will inspire my team—but nothing comes to mind.
Nobel runs ahead thirty yards and sets down a device that we call Miss Liberty. She has a face made out of gears, and her torch is a small windmill. As the windmill turns with the slight cave breeze, the face gears click, indicating that she is functioning. These gears activate a small projector. The camera lens illuminates the floor with white light. I approach the apparatus and hear Nobel talking to his machine.
“Good girl, that’s it, keep going,” he whispers.
The white light takes shape into the form of an arrow and points down the mine tunnel.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our compass,” Nobel announces with great pride.
“So all we have to do is follow the arrow?” Bruce asks. My metal leg is nothing compared to the overhaul he got after an explosion on a subway a few years back. He was supposed to go in and grab a kid, a Rifter like us, Claymore had located. He got the kid, but neither of them came out completely intact. One arm is made of brass, and half his face is metal burned into skin. A large monocle covers one eye, and his ear is missing on that side. In its place is a tiny transmitter that allows him to hear by echolocation, like a bat.
“Well, sort of,” Nobel replies. “The arrow points to Tesla kinda like how a compass points north. So we need to pick the tunnels that head in that direction.”
“We’ve input all the data from my maps into her memory,” Journey adds proudly.
At every intersection and fork in the mine tunnel, Nobel sets up Miss Liberty. She keeps our bearings. Finally, we find it—the sweet spot. Miss Liberty’s light shines on a section of wall that’s partially caved in.
Journey presses her ear against the rock and taps, then gives Slap Stick a thumbs-up. We all run down the dirt tunnel a ways as he sets the charge. He’s whistling when he joins us. We crouch and cover our ears. Slap Stick’s whistle hits a high note that echoes through the chamber a second before the blast.
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