Parched

by Georgia Clark

  “What about you? This your first time firing with air?” I wave the rifle at him and he flinches, dropping the comm. I raise my eyebrows as he bends to pick it up.

  “I’m not really . . . into guns,” he says apprehensively.

  “Seriously? What are you doing in Kudzu?”

  “Hey, I’m tech,” he says defensively. “Geek boy, remember? Kind of out of my element here.”

  So only four of our five will actually have weapons? I try to ignore the sour feeling of foreboding that’s bubbling inside me. “What about the mirror matter?”

  Naz holds aloft an enormous flamethrower. “I’m packing this baby,” she announces, kissing the weapon’s huge barrel dramatically.

  “And it’ll get above two thousand degrees?” I ask.

  “Just need a clean shot,” she replies, oozing confidence.

  Ling raises her voice. “Time to go. Everyone ready?”

  Our mission leader stands before us, jutting her chin defiantly, sweat beading her brow. In a loud, clear voice, she says, “Our minds are better. Our hands are faster. Our hearts are stronger.” She pauses, and the last words are spoken by us all, echoing around the parking garage: “We are Kudzu.”

  I want us to sound strong. But our voices waver for a fraction, out of sync, and instead we sound slightly unsure.

  “Alpha team, remember to wait for my signal,” Ling announces. “Let’s move.”

  Everyone in Alpha and Beta finds the backseat of a floater driven by someone in Gamma.

  “Chicken.” Henny pats the seat behind her. “Ride with me.”

  I hand her my Kudzu necklace. “Can you keep this safe?”

  “I’ll have it waiting for you,” she says.

  We take off like a flock of dark avenging angels. I find myself holding on to Henny’s warm and comforting body tighter than I need to. This may well be the last time I ever get to hold another human being.

  HOW THE FUTURE FEELS.

  Simutech’s slogan stretches above the front entrance, illuminated in a jerky dance of flashing lights. From our vantage point across and down the street, crouched behind a parked buzzcar, those of us on Alpha team can see the front entrance. Any hope that it might be easier to get in than we thought is instantly dashed.

  At least fifty Quicks form a protective barricade around the entire building. Local Guiders have already arrived and are talking to some dazed-looking Simutech scientists. Another buzzcar full of Guiders arrives, landing in a quick vertical descent. Several bright red Longevity Hub buzzcars are also parked out front. Frog is being treated in one by a Hub doctor, a blanket around his shoulders and a stunned look on his face. For a moment I feel sorry for him—seeing a pretty young girl murdered by a bunch of Quicks probably wasn’t how he planned to spend the late shift. Then I remember him punching Ling in the face, and my sense of empathy vanishes.

  Where is Hunter now? Already at the Three Towers?

  I shake the thought away, focusing again on the main entrance.

  “The good news is, it doesn’t look like the Trust is here yet,” Ling murmurs into her comm. “I can’t see any Tranquils.”

  My heart stops. Oh no. I nudge Ling, and nod at the man she’ll recognize too. Uncle Abel. He’s arguing furiously with an irate Guider. “But how could it’ve been one of my security swabs? I’ve just gotten here!”

  “Sir, I can’t let you in the building.”

  “But I’m the head of the project! I’m in charge!”

  “I can’t let you in the building,” the Guider repeats, louder.

  “But—But—” he stutters. “I have to assess the damage! Someone broke in? Why?”

  I feel a pang of sympathy when I see how upset he is. But I can’t let it blossom into anything more. The Guider refuses to cave, and a moment later, Abel throws up his hands and storms off. I sigh with relief.

  Ling presses the comm into her ear. “Beta team, are you ready?”

  A volley of yesses echoes into our comms.

  “Go.”

  From the opposite end of the street, Gem and Kissy emerge, tottering toward the hullaballoo of Simutech. Both wear elaborate golden masks decorated with peacock feathers—the kind people wear to the burlesque shows in Charity. They stop on the corner, giggling.

  “Hey,” Gem calls to the line of Quicks. We can hear her perfectly through our comms. “What’s going on?”

  A Quick turns its attention to her. “By order of the Trust, you are instructed to move on.”

  “What?”

  “By order of the Trust, you are instructed to move on.”

  Gem and Kissy come a few feet closer, still giggling. “What’s going on here?” For all intents and purposes, they look like two cute young girls coming home from a night out.

  “By order of the Trust, you are instructed to move on. Vacate this—”

  “I can’t understand you.” Gem shrugs.

  “Hey!” One of the Guiders—a pudgy guy in an ill-fitting blue robe—notices them both. “What are you girls doing? Get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” Kissy asks innocently, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “Are you deaf as well as stupid?” he barks, striding over. Five Quicks follow him. “Go on home, by order of the Trust.”

  “This has to do with the Trust?” Gem asks, impressed. “Do you know anyone who works in the Three Towers?”

  “I bet you do,” Kissy adds. “You look like someone who’s pretty powerful.”

  The Guider looks down at Gem and Kissy. They smile back up at him suggestively. He shifts his weight and squares his shoulder. “Yeah, I got a couple buddies in the Towers,” he brags.

  The Guider begins flirting with Gem and Kissy, who ooh and ahh at everything he says. In less than a minute, a second Guider wanders over for a piece of the action. Another five Quicks tail him like dogs.

  “Tomm, Bo—go,” Ling instructs.

  From the same end of the street, Tomm and Bo swagger toward the scene. They are both wearing standard issue upcycle worker masks, the kind that covers their mouths and noses.

  “Hey!” Tomm yells at a different group of Guiders. “I got an upcycle truck parked over on Main that I can’t move because the street’s blocked off! What the hell is going on?”

  “You!” a Guider calls. “Get out of here, this is Trust business—”

  “Oh, Trust business, is it?” Tomm calls back mockingly.

  “Better shut down Eden if the Trust is involved,” Bo adds sarcastically.

  “We got a thousand houses to pick up upcycling from tonight,” Tomm says. “Who’s going do it if we can’t move our truck?”

  “You know, you should be using subs to do your work!” a Guider snaps at them as he strides over, followed obediently by a pack of Quicks. “We should be phasing out people working menial labor.”

  “Menial labor?” Tomm and Bo ask together in delighted outrage. Success. An argument is suddenly in full swing. Between that and Gem and Kissy’s flirtation, the line of Quicks is broken.

  “Alpha,” Ling says, looking at us as well as speaking into the comm. “Let’s move.”

  Naz, Ling, Achilles, Benji, and I start crossing the road, now visible to anyone who cares to look over. We are all wearing cream-colored lab coats that someone brought from Milkwood. They’re a different cut from Simutech’s—as well as being pretty dirty, while Simutech’s are snow-white—but I can’t imagine the Guiders will know the difference. Because we can no longer hide our faces, we’re not using code names this time. I can’t bring myself to worry about this—I’m sure Abel knows it was me who used his swab anyway. My heart is bouncing wildly in my chest, mouth sticky and Badlands dry. But with all the distraction the Beta team is causing, we might be able to slip right in—

  “Hey.” A Guider stops us. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We are working on Project Aevum.” Ling smiles prettily. She’s changed her voice to sound softer and more precise. “We were instructed by the Trust to be
gin relocating Aevum’s processors.”

  He glances over at us, looking tired and disinterested. “All right. Hurry up.” It worked. We just passed as scientists, even with Naz toting a huge flamethrower strapped to her back under her lab coat.

  We continue toward the main entrance. Fast, but not too fast.

  A scream from Gem cuts through me. My gaze rockets to her in a panic. Her hand is on the Guider’s chunky arm,and she is doubled over in pseudo-hysterics. It was just a scream of laughter. But a Quick has caught me looking. Glowing red eyes lock into mine. I freeze. Suddenly, all the Quicks, wherever they were, swivel their heads toward me. The Quicks speak as one; flat, monotone voices ringing out together: “Terrorist identified.”

  The Guiders stop flirting and arguing, confused.

  Ling doesn’t need to give the order.

  As one, we whip out the air rifles and razers that are hidden under our clothing. The rest of the Beta team emerges from their hiding places. They quickly move to either end of the line of Quicks and Guiders. Now both Beta and Alpha are in front of Simutech, facing the street.

  “What the—” cries the sweat-stained Guider before a suddenly sober Gem sends him flying with a hard pulse of air. He knocks into a couple of Quicks and crashes onto the concrete.

  It’s on.

  Kudzu begin knocking down Quicks and Guiders with air rifles. The noise is deafening. Scientists scatter haphazardly, their shouts of fear adding to the chaotic soundtrack. On either side of me, Naz and Ling pick off their targets with a steady hand, one by one. Across the street, Gem, Kissy, Bo, and Tomm do the same. Achilles darts past me, racing inside the building.

  “Start firing!” Naz shouts.

  I grasp the heavy air rifle, trying to remember what Naz had said. Steady posture, weight spread evenly on both feet, low center of gravity—

  “Tess!” Ling yells.

  Looking up, I see a group of Quicks running straight for me. In a panic, I pump the trigger. The force of the gun knocks me off balance, and I stumble back a few feet. I blow one Quick back but there are still more coming. I regain my posture and raise the gun again. I grit my teeth, steady my hand, and begin firing. One. Two. Three in a row.

  “Nice!” yells Ling.

  “You want this?” Naz growls as she blasts her targets backward. “How about you, you want a little of this too?”

  I catch a glimpse of Benji’s face and feel a sudden flash of fear. It is cold and hard, set into a mask of pure hatred.

  A flare of white light blows a smoking hole into the front of the building, and we all flinch. The Guiders have started returning fire with razers. I’ve never seen Guiders with weapons before. “Rockwood, watch out!” Naz yells. “Don’t get smoked!”

  “Beta, fall back and cover us!” Ling orders. “Alpha, start moving in.”

  Beta scatters, still firing as they run. We start backing toward the building.

  “Hurry up, Achilles,” Naz mutters. We keep edging into the building, now past the doors, which are still wide open. “Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.”

  Outside, Guiders lie strewn everywhere, knocked unconscious from the fall or too hurt or scared to move. Others blast razer fire at us from unseen vantage points. And no matter how many Quicks we blow away, they keep picking themselves up and coming for us.

  “Kissy, retreat!” Ling yells.

  Kissy struggles under the weight of her heavy air rifle, screaming as she blasts Quicks and Guiders.

  “Kissy, retreat!” Ling yells again.

  The Guider she’d been flirting with returns fire on her viciously, white pulses of light missing her head by inches.

  “Kissy!” I hear Gem scream in terror through the comm.

  Slinging the air rifle over my back, I whip out the small razer pistol. It feels featherlight in my hand. I aim for the Guider shooting at Kissy. At the last second, I drop my aim from his chest to his leg and fire. Dead on. I’m panting hard as he hits the street, clutching his leg and shrieking in pain. Kissy glances over at me, breathless and wild-eyed, then sprints off into the darkness. I glance at Naz, nervous she’ll berate me for not killing the Guider. But she just gives me a quick nod, and we turn our attention to the madness before us.

  “Got it!” calls Achilles. The huge front doors begin closing, coming to meet in the center. Slowly. No whip-fast disappearance like upstairs.

  “Beta, retreat! Gamma, fall out to collect, then await instruction!” Ling yells, still firing at the approaching Quicks.

  But the doors aren’t closing fast enough. With Beta not blowing away the Quicks coming after us, we don’t have enough power to stop them.

  “Hurry up!” The robots just keep coming, wave after wave after wave. There are so many of them—their red eyes drilling into us, their black-and-silver bodies moving impossibly fast.

  The doors are almost closed. At the last second, a Quick forces itself into the doorway.

  “It’ll be crushed!” Naz yells. But it isn’t. It’s too strong. The doors stop closing, grinding but not moving, and effectively holding the thing in place by its torso. We all start firing on it. But our air rifles achieve nothing.

  Black-and-chrome hands appear in the gap between the two doors above the Quick.

  “They’re pulling it open!” The Quicks are wrenching the doors back: a quarter inch, then a quarter inch more. The Quick in the doorway struggles, almost free.

  “Hold your fire,” Ling orders.

  “If they get that door open . . .” I can’t finish the thought. Without the support of Beta, we’re dead. There are fifty Quicks outside ready to kill us.

  “Hold it,” Ling says.

  A quarter inch more.

  “Now!” All four of us fire at once. The doors are open just enough to free the Quick, and we blast it cleanly backward, taking out the Quicks behind it.

  In a rush of released pressure, the doors slam closed with a booming crash.

  The five of us stand panting; shocked into momentary inertia.

  Simutech’s wide, open foyer is dotted with green plants and a few bright orange sofas for waiting visitors. It’s surreally calm. The sound of a round of razer fire on the heavy front doors jerks me back to high alert.

  “Let’s go!” Naz shouts.

  “Stairs!” I lead the charge. My ankle twinges with every step, but it’ll hold out: Hunter’s nanites make sure of that.

  Guns drawn, we bolt across the squeaky blue floor toward the stairs. We don’t see a soul. I know there are probably Guiders and scientists in here somewhere, but hopefully they’ll be hiding from five crazy kids with air rifles and razers.

  We round the corner. The corridor looks like a wrecking site—exploded walls exposing the offices behind them, rubble everywhere. Part of the ceiling has collapsed. This was where the second grenade exploded. Where Hunter wrapped me in his arms and saved my life.

  “Your handiwork, Rockwood?” Naz asks as we pick our way as fast as we can through the debris.

  “Yup,” I reply, eyes scanning the walls for the entrance to the stairs. “My day isn’t complete without at least one explosion.”

  I see rust-colored spots of blood on the floor. Probably mine. And then, so small it’s barely noticeable, a splash of sky-blue. Hunter’s blood. “Stairs!” I point with my gun.

  I ram the door with my shoulder. It opens—Achilles’ key is working. Instantly the shrieking alarm and flashing blue lights we’d become so familiar with begin again. It doesn’t really matter now—our presence is no secret, nor is what we’re after.

  Level Two.

  Level Three.

  Level Four. My legs are starting to shoot battery acid instead of blood.

  Level Five. My head spins with the exertion; sweat pours down my temples.

  Level Six. I shove open the door, legs on fire, trying to work out which way we need to go.

  “There!” Ling puffs. A sign reading INNOVATION LAB C with an arrow points the way. We stagger down the corridor, heaving with exertio
n.

  Around another corner. Jackpot! We’re back at the entrance to the lab. The shards of glass that had covered the floor when we’d last been here are gone. But the long window that Ling and Naz had shot with their razers is still broken.

  “Careful with the glass,” I pant. Maybe I can use the butt of my gun to smash away some of the leftover pieces that cling to the bottom of the sill. Benji moves past me to help. No, he keeps walking past the window. “Benji?”

  I look up ahead of him, along the corridor we’d first run down earlier tonight. I can see the aftereffects of the two grenades Ling and Naz hurled into the sea of Quicks that’d filled this corridor. Walls and parts of the ceiling have been blown away, but the rubble has been cleared. But it’s what I see at the far end of the corridor that makes my heart stop.

  Lana.

  White tape cordons off the area around her, but apart from that, she looks as if she’s sleeping. Hair the color of ripe wheat fans out around her.

  “Benji!” I yell, running after him. “We don’t have time.” I grab his arm to stop him but he shakes me off.

  I stumble back. He keeps moving like he’s sleepwalking. I refocus on what we’re here for. The mirror matter.

  I’m careful as I swing myself over the jagged ledge. As I run back to the Trust meeting room, I can hear Ling behind me. The door is already open. I burst in, and stop short. The garden is gone. A ragged, gaping hole is all that’s left, and even though I don’t need to fall to my knees to confirm that the mirror matter is gone, I do anyway. Ling’s in the doorway behind me as I turn, stricken. “It’s not here.”

  “C’mon.” She pulls me to my feet. “Not over yet.”

  We race back through the lab. How is it not over? Hunter has it, I know he does.

  Back in the corridor, I see Benji, a walking corpse, drawn hopelessly to the body of his girlfriend. I jog a few steps toward him, confused and panicky. The alarm screeches. The blue lights keep flashing. Naz joins Ling and asks, “Not there?”

  “No,” Ling replies. “Tess, come back here—”

  The alarm and flashing blue lights stop. And then we are plunged into total darkness.

  I widen my eyes as much as I can to soak up any scrap of available light, but the darkness is all-encompassing.