Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2)

by Letto, Heather

  Jamie giggled and Ret heard Erin shush the younger ones as she helped pull the little scrub onto the platform.

  With renewed strength, Ret readied for the last child. One more to go. He ducked out to grab Arnold, and as he did, a vibration reverberated around them. Loud and alarming, it drowned out the whispers and giggles as it echoed up the pipe. Someone in the chute seemed to be approaching. Judging by the banging and clanging, they were in a hurry. Ret squatted low and tapped his shoulders, and Arnold scurried up.

  As Ret exploded from his squat, white hot pain shot from his buttocks to his knee. With the clattering of metal around them, Arnold moved to the platform in a frenzy. After he’d been freed from Arnold’s weight, Ret tried to squat to get the last push to leap and grab, but his legs buckled beneath him.

  The echoes rose in resonance like thunder and one of the kids began to shriek. Ret closed his eyes. Visions of his father’s face filled his mind.

  He could do this.

  He pushed his back against the mass of metal, placed his hands out to the side, and flattened his palms on the opposing walls. He tucked his stronger leg beneath his body and allowed the injured one to dangle, then drew in a breath and began to stand while inching his hands up the sides of the chute. The disturbance from below thundered and clanged. One more floor to go.

  Chapter 37

  FRAN

  The sounds. The smells. The pushing and murmuring. It felt like a foggy dream from long ago. And just like the days of old, Fran kept her eyes locked on her suede booties and watched her robe brush against her bare legs. Were people staring? Assuming to still be off the grid and safe from security checks, Fran lifted her gaze to look around.

  No one stared. Nope. All chins remained tucked tight. Seriously? No one notices the oddball here?

  Her skin prickled as a Graphie entered the stream. Could be security. Why did her gut tighten? You’re off the grid, remember? Then again, it could be nothing more than an advertising Graphie. Oddly, that thought hadn’t dawned on her before leaving the vent—the marketing Graphies, that is. She wondered what would happen if an advertiser employed face-rec as they often did to target their audience. She shrugged. If a marketer identified her, it wouldn’t necessarily put her back on the grid. Right?

  Fran bit her lip and focused again on her moccasins, wishing she would have considered all the angles before she’d exited the air vent. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and the scouring raw flesh reminded her of her thirst. She began the sideways crawl that would dump her into the next circle. Like a dance from her childhood—choreographed over the years and performed with a thousand strangers—Fran stepped in time with the music of the murmurs until released from the hold of the crowd. She looked to her left and a water hut stood spewing the Council’s minions into unsuspecting containers a mere few feet away. Fran licked her lips and moved toward the hut.

  Two people stood in line before her. A disheveled guy, probably late-twenties, who appeared as if he’d soon take up residence at the Post Prime Adult Care Center, filled a single mug of water. Next in line, a woman who, judging by the scraping sound as thick calluses rubbed against one another, had spent her day in acts of service. She looked tired and massaged her neck and shoulders indicating the achy muscles that dwelt under her white skin.

  Fran had to look away.

  Her eyes flicked here and there, watching the hustle and bustle with renewed sadness. Everyone rushed about with new treasures, slurping back frothy drinks, talking on com devices and ignoring one another. Fran compared this lifestyle to the new one she’d discovered outside and remembered how the entire earth above—trees, birds, animals, wind, and even shadows—seemed to cohabitate on a single breath with a rhythm of community. A warmth settled around her heart as she envisioned heading back out. The smart side of her brain scolded her for even taking the detour. Get your drink. Crawl back into the vent. Get out. The end.

  And then she saw Ted.

  He moved to a charging table and slid his reader onto the surface.

  Good, Fran thought. I ought to have a solid fifteen seconds to reach him before the charge is complete. She took a longing look at the water hut, put her thirst on hold, and began to sprint in old Rebel fashion. She noticed that although the booties made her lighter on her feet, they weren’t the best footwear for the Agora’s epoxy-coated floors. She slipped and scampered to move through the crowd, and slid right into the arms of a slow-walking resident before untangling herself on a quick, “Sorry.”

  “Ted!”

  She yelled over the heads of the crowd, and a few eyes turned her way to snatch a quick look. Ted remained focused on his charging device. A sheen of gel coated his hair and the few unruly curls that refused to lie down looked like fancy embellishments. Fran smirked.

  His smooth face, the one she’d always thought to be so handsome, seemed a little pale and drawn now that she’d seen a stronger version of him in their father. She tried to picture what Mom and Dad would say if she brought him out. Her heart quickened.

  On a final burst of power, she launched herself forward and then slid the last few feet, careening right into the charging table. She lay on the floor in a crumpled heap. She looked up into his eyes and smiled.

  “Hey, Ted.”

  Chapter 38

  RETTER

  He wasn’t going to make it. No matter how much the kids shrieked from the platform, Ret couldn’t muscle his way up the chute. He rested with his head against the wall. Now, not only could he hear the clanging and pounding of metal below him, but he also could distinguish the sound of human grunting. And hacking.

  He felt a moment of hope.

  “Ret! Ret, are you guys up here?”

  The voice cracked on the last word and Ret bellowed out a laugh. Finally, Pete and Wolf had made it back. Now, they could all head out together.

  Ret cleared his own throat and shouted back, “On platform five, Pete.”

  Jamie squealed overhead and a few giggles punctuated by shushing joined her. A moment later, Pete shimmied to where Ret sat, huffing and puffing as if he’d just run the race of a lifetime.

  “It’s Wolf,” he coughed out.

  Ret sat a little straighter. “Are you serious? What now? Where is she?”

  “In the Agora.”

  “What?” Ret felt the sting of irritation coat his confusion. “Why in the world would she do that? She could be back on the grid.” The throbbing in his leg ceased as fresh adrenaline pumped through his veins.

  Pete put one hand to his chest and held up the other. “The Graphie didn’t nail her. She must be ...” He waved his free hand around in a dismissive manner, “… you know, invisible or whatever you call it.”

  Ret acknowledged with a nod but in his head the silent countdown had begun. “It’s just a matter of time, Pete. Did she say where or why she did it?”

  “Nope.” Pete shook his head. “You know how she is. She just dove into the crowd.” Pete barked out another round of coughs and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can you get her, Ret?”

  Ret heaved a sigh and looked overhead at the faces, silhouetted by a jittery beam of light.

  “Pete. Can you get me out of here?” Ret pointed to a nearby vent opening.

  “Sure.”

  “And can you get these guys to the exit vent inside the Ranch?”

  “You know I can, boss.”

  “Alright, I’ll take the lift down to the Agora and escort our wandering Rebel back before she lights up the grid.” Ret grabbed Pete’s shoulder and took another glance overhead. “And one more thing.” He waved to Pete and scooted outside of the chute to the fifth floor platform and continued in a hushed voice.

  “Pete.” Ret drew in a breath. “I know I can be straight with you, so I’m just going to shoot from the hip.”

  Pete’s breath had slowed, his coughing diminished, and the air squeezed through his pipes with a raspy wheeze. He nodded to Ret. “Whatever it is, man …”

  Ret
hesitated. He really liked this guy—honest and humble with just enough moxy to keep himself alive. He knew Pete would be a key player in the big picture, but hated what he had to tell him next.

  “When you get the kids to the vent, you’re going to have to leave them there.”

  Pete’s brow arced. “Wha??”

  “Get them to the exit vent and then move far away.”

  “Because …?”

  “Because your presence will alert security.” Ret shook his head. “Man, I’m so sorry, but it’s just for a short time. I won’t leave you hanging, Pete.”

  Pete shuddered and hugged himself as if he’d been nailed by a Graphie. His nostrils flared on his next breath and his brows dipped low as if he’d been double-crossed. Did he look mad? Dejected? Ret couldn’t be sure, but wouldn’t blame him for either. One thing for certain, he didn’t wear a face of understanding.

  “You’ll have to trust me, Pete. With your help, we’re going to detox this entire city.” Ret gave Pete a hardy clap on his shoulder and allowed Pete a few moments to digest. “What do you think, brother? Can I count you in?”

  Pete had a faraway look, but nodded his agreement.

  Chapter 39

  FRAN

  “Wick—? What …?”

  Fran smiled, pleased with the dramatic entrance, not to mention Ted’s priceless reaction. She rose to her feet and brushed at her tattered gown.

  “Where have you—? How did you—?”

  On her periphery, Fran caught a glance of Ted’s reader finishing the charge. A chink in its armor caused her to sweep her gaze sideways to investigate. The rounded silver edges looked like any other reader, except for the mutilated scratches on the side—S.F.M. The ones she’d engraved into the metal when she’d owned it not so long ago. She pointed to the device.

  “Is that mine?”

  “Huh?” Ted shook his head. “Your reader? Uh, yeah.”

  “Have you been reading the Diary?”

  Ted gawked at his sister and reached his hand out in slow-mo, as if he wanted to touch her, but didn’t dare go that last inch. “Are you really alive?”

  Fran huffed. “Yes, I’m really alive.” She smacked his hand away. So, did you?”

  He continued his open-mouth stare and eased his head up and down in a drawn-out nod.

  “And?”

  Ted clamped his mouth and shook his head as if waking up from a dream. “And what?”

  “Do you believe?”

  “Believe what?”

  “The story.” Fran placed her hands on her hips and began tapping her toe. “The Diary of a First Gen.”

  “Oh that. I guess. Well, maybe, I dunno.” He wiped a hand across his forehead as if removing some invisible stress. “Where have you been? I thought you were dead.”

  Fran snorted. “Ted, where do you think I’ve been?” She looked around for something to show from the outdoors, then held her gown out like a dancer and spun around in a circle. “Where do you suppose I got this little number?” She kicked her suede-covered toes into the air. “And these?”

  The reader beeped indicating the charge had completed. Fran put her hand onto its slick, warm surface. “This thing saved my life, Ted.”

  Ted placed his hand over hers. “You know there’s been a lot of talk about that story. Apparently, your reader wasn’t the only one jumped with the anti-Council propaganda.” He smiled at his sister. “You know, I heard a Superior had gone mad and made the whole thing up right before his final decline.” He shook his head and chuckled. “But, hey, if it gave you hope and kept you alive, I’m very grateful for it.”

  Fran drummed her hand onto the reader. “Seriously? A crazy Superior? You think that’s what this was?” Is Ted insane? How could he not believe?

  “And you think a cute little story with no backing somehow gave me mystical hope?” Fran’s voice rose with emotion. A couple at the next charging-table flicked a glance her way. Fran ignored the social implications.

  “It’s not just hope, Ted. It’s real.” She flung her hands up in the air. “How can I make you believe?”

  Ted’s pained expression began to soften. “Wickworm.” He shook his head. “Let me take you home. You can live with me and Nissa. You’ll have everything you need. Heck, more than you need. Just give up this nonsense already.”

  “Nonsense? You think it’s all nonsense? Well, big bro, before we go back to your digs for a spot of tea, how about I demonstrate one last thing for you?” Fran’s angered burned. Her pride puffed and she felt emboldened as she spewed at her brother. “Watch this, and then you can make your final decision.”

  Fran scanned the courts looking for it. There had to be at least one in the vicinity.

  There.

  Bigger than life, and looming toward them. She grazed a final glance over her brother before moving straight toward the Graphie.

  “Fran. No!” Panic squeezed the edges of Ted’s voice into a cry. Fran ignored her brother’s desperation with all the certainty in the world he’d soon be transformed into a believer. Chin and chest lifted, she stomped across the glossy floor for the grand revelation.

  A smile crept across her face as she neared the shimmering giant. She swallowed her pasty saliva. Her skin began to itch but she refused to address the annoyance. The itch blossomed into a tingle and she turned her head and offered a lofty nod back at her brother. As she swung her gaze back toward the Graphie, a familiar red light burst into her eyes.

  And then time stood still.

  Because she couldn’t move her legs.

  Chapter 40

  RETTER

  A carnival of sound exploded as soon as the doors parted. Ret pushed away from the wall and grimaced as he moved forward. The pain he’d experienced upon first emerging from the vents and standing upright had already undergone a myriad of change ranging from stabbing, to throbbing, and now a numbing ache. Each step brought with it a new level of agony. Now, as he exited the lift, the torment traveled up the entire left side of his body, wrapped around his shoulders and moved down the right side before tying itself in a knot around his toes. In an effort to ignore the battle raging in his body, Ret set his focus on the task at hand and strode toward the moving stairway.

  He soon became engulfed in the flow of pedestrians. A few passers-by reacted to Ret’s injuries, but other than a quick double-take, did nothing more than murmur into collective collars and sidle out of his way. As he rode the stairway, Ret leaned onto the railing while attempting to scan the crowd. From his elevated position, the entire west side of the Agora spread out before him, and his eyes darted here and there, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  Although they marched like a continual line of ants around the periphery of the Agora, from this perspective the perpetual flow of humanity reminded him of a school of fish, narrowing and expanding into various shapes as individuals moved in and out of the design. He unfocused his eyes and allowed the shape shifting to warn him of any areas of vulnerability that would scream of Wolf’s presence.

  It didn’t take long before he saw the hole in the picture. A Graphie took shape in the center of the void. Ret’s stomach tightened and time began to tick down in his head as he scanned and planned his pathway. He touched the satchel on his side, making sure it still hung secure. This was it.

  The final piece of the mission.

  Chapter 41

  FRAN

  She willed her legs to move and even tried to manipulate them with her own hands, but like tree trunks rooted deep into the ground, they were immobile. The Graphie’s computer-generated voice declared her status as “Unaccountable,” but after a whiny buzz changed the declaration to “Deceased.” He halted again, and had she not been filled with terror, Fran might have found it to be almost comical as his circuits whirred and buzzed. Eventually, however, he selected “Unaccountable,” and then began to spew Impervious dogma.

  The panic didn’t set in for at least five seconds. For ten full beats of her heart, Fran’s psyche danced
around confusion, irritation, denial, and anger before exploding into full hysteria. Everything seemed to sound like a rock band on stage as blood thundered past her ears, and Ted’s incessant shouts tore through the noise like an unrehearsed riff on a lead guitar. Her own heartbeat added a percussive edge, and the droning of the Graphie, a deep bass accentuation. Madness bubbled up to the surface, and Fran’s own voice tore through her throat wailing like the lead singer in this impromptu band.

  Faces swam before her vision, sneaking peeks of the show over upturned collars before scurrying off like frightened rodents. Heavily-lined eyes blinked and rolled as they assessed her face and then disappeared into the throng, too self-absorbed, or afraid, or who-knows-what to get involved.

  She wanted to throw up right there.

  On their stupid faces.

  Better yet, on the Graphie.

  “Wolf!”

  Fran lifted her gaze.

  “Wolf!”

  She turned her head.

  Pete was charging toward her.

  No!

  A second Graphie somewhere between her and Pete began to pixelate.

  “No!” She screamed at the Graphie. She screamed at Pete.

  He stumbled as he ran on a tangle of thin legs. “Wolf!”

  The Graphie completed the pixelation. Pete doubled over and wrapped his thin arms around his waist as if he’d been punched by an invisible force.

  The screech of a wild animal tore through Fran’s throat.

  Pete fell to his knees.

  Chapter 42

  RETTER

  Too many detours. Ret checked over the heads of the crowd as he raced about the periphery of the circle. He couldn’t see her. The crowd was too thick.

  He plowed his way to the outer rim of walkers, and limped to the square hut. Ret pushed to the front of the line and stepped between the resident and the stream of water. He stood in the sensing circle. Ret took a deep breath and placed his mouth under the light.