I bend over to pick up the glowing flashlight, but that sends a shooting pain deep into my gut, so I adjust my position and squat instead. Shining the light into the cabinet, I’m baffled. There are stacks of flash drives on the shelf, but they are labeled with a series of numbers and letters, nothing to indicate easily what is on each one. On the lower shelves are other types of equipment that I would have no idea what to do with. I assume the plans are on a flash drive. But how do I choose which one to take? I have to take them all.
I peer around the room, looking for a bag of some sort. The flashlight focuses in on a small trash bin. Limping a few steps, I dump out the few candy wrappers and tissues onto the floor and yank out the bag. While holding the bag up to the edge of the shelf I slide my arm across, pouring the entire collection of flash drives into the bag. That ought to do it.
Warm liquid continues to ooze down my shirt and into my shorts. I need to stop the bleeding before I lose too much blood and pass out. Having chronic low blood pressure is not in my best interest now. I doubt they keep any medical equipment in here.
I hurriedly unbuckle the Enforcer’s belt and wrap it loosely around my extended waist, checking the size. It looks like it will fit over my bloated belly. I try to rip his jumpsuit, but I can’t. I don’t know how Marcus managed to do it when he was splinting my injured ankle in the Web all those months ago. Perhaps I’m weakening from the wound. I’ll have to find something else. I remove one of my shoes and slide my sock off. It’s dirty, but it’ll have to do. I wrap it snugly around the belt three times then fasten the belt tightly to my waist. The shocking pain shoots lightning bolts into my abdomen as I pull the belt over it, but I exhale deeply and accept the pain, forcing the belt tight enough to dig ravines into my skin. That should hold off the blood loss for a while I hope.
Time to get out of here. I replace my shoe and turn off the flashlight to preserve the battery, sliding it into an empty notch in the belt. On the way out I snatch up my slingshot and keep it ready to use at a moment’s notice
I crack the door and check the corridor—still no sound. All of the Enforcers must be too preoccupied in the upper levels to investigate the noise. Before I leave, I fold up my slingshot and reattach the holster to my leg. One of the guns I held is empty, so I leave it behind. I hold on to the other gun and place the gun from the cabinet that he shot me with in my holster so I can carry the bag more comfortably. Now I’ve got to find Drake.
I creep through the corridor a bit faster this time not knowing if or when I might pass out due to blood loss. I feel a little woozy, but still very much lucid. Hopefully the wound was superficial. At least I keep telling myself that.
I count the descending corridors as I pass trying to remember how many I passed to get here. Did I pass two or three? Wake up Pollen. This is important. If I take the wrong stairwell, I may not make it down to the solitary level. How do I know which is the right one? The corridor I was in had the closet with the office supplies where I left the unconscious Enforcer. That’s the only way I’ll know for sure.
When I come to the next hallway I crack the first door on the left and peek in. The dim yellow light reflects off a shiny black boot and I know I’m on the right path. Quietly, I shut the door as not to disturb him. The morbid thought occurs to me again. I wonder if I should just shoot him so he can’t come after me if he wakes. Waves of nausea wash over me. I feel so disgusted after killing the other guy, I’m not sure I could stomach doing it again. No, he’s passed out. By the time he wakes I’ll be long gone. Or dead.
I continue to retrace my path to the stairwell in near silence apart from my raspy, labored breath, and listen intently before reentering. My body has the irresistible urge lean on the railing as I descend the first few steps, since the pain from the gunshot wound is beginning to radiate down into my hip. I want to move faster—I’m almost there. But I don’t want to risk stumbling and falling, which will probably worsen my injury since the bullet is still lodged in there somewhere. The throbbing in my head and the bruise from the amnio are barely noticeably now next to the gaping wound on my waist.
I descend two more floors before finally reaching the bottom. I open the door just a sliver. I’m sure there must be a few Enforcers on patrol down here. But all is eerily quiet. I slip out of the door, closing it gingerly behind me. The odor of mold and excrement nearly knocks me over and I’m reminded of my not-so-pleasant holiday here so many months ago.
I turn my head looking both ways down the corridor and to the one in front of me. No matter which direction I turn, it looks like an airport runway. Yellow lights line the edges of the floors so far in the distance that they just seem to fade away. I wonder briefly how I am ever going to find Drake’s cell in this endless labyrinth.
Approaching the first door, I slide the gun into the back of the belt and switch on the flashlight to check the number briefly—D702. I quickly switch off the light. I can’t afford to risk to announcing my presence to any Enforcers that may be stationed down here. Now, I need to find D320. I walk around the corner and check the door number there—D219. I step down to the next door—D221.
Hmm. The numbers are going up. I’ll keep going this way. I creep past the next corridor, carefully checking to see if there are any dark figures lurking behind. As I expected, it’s clear, so I move forward and switch on the light again to check the number—D225. At this rate it’s going to take awhile.
Moving swiftly on my toes I pass five more corridors, then pause briefly to check the number—E225. What? I turn back and descend the intersecting corridor, checking the number on the first door—E902. Hopelessness and panic threaten to take control of me as I lean on the scratchy stone wall, but I suppress it the best I can. Can’t give up now.
I keep to the left and check around the corner of the next intersection, flashing the light quickly on the first door I find—E424. Somehow I’m in the wrong place. At least the first few doors I found began with the letter D. There must be some sort of pattern here. I decide to follow the corridor back in the direction I came from, or at least I think that’s where I’m going.
I count five corridors that I pass and check the number—D424. Okay, I’m closer. I continue down the corridor until I check again and find that I am again in a different section of the maze.
I’m about to turn back, when I hear a peep. I’m not entirely sure I didn’t imagine it, but I’m not about to take any chances. I slip into the intersecting corridor and creep along the wall, keeping my ears cocked for any clues to the whereabouts of the noise. I don’t hear anything, but until my heartbeat calms down, I can’t be sure.
Convinced it was probably just one of the prisoners making noise, I continue on. In my confusion, I’ve lost my internal map. I continue down the corridor and stop to check the number on the door—I514. I? I spin around the intersection looking each way. In three directions the corridors seem endless. But the fourth seems to end at a wall in the distance. I follow that one, in an effort to avoid getting lost.
I turn left and check the number—C207. I follow the corridor until I find myself back to where I started at the stairwell and elevator. This is good. I can start all over with the little knowledge I’ve gained.
The maze seems to be sectioned off in blocks marked by individual letters. The horizontal rows I was in were the 200s and 400s. The vertical rows were the 700s, 900s, and 500s. Perhaps the vertical rows are all odds and the horizontal rows are evens?
I check the door in the first vertical row—D702. The same one I saw when I first arrived down here. I walk to the next descending row to the right and check the first door there—D901. I go back, skipping the first corridor and proceeding to the next. D502. I can feel myself getting close. I ignore the throbbing pain in my side as I lightly jog to the next corridor and flash the light—D302. This is it. I continue to follow the corridor checking the numbers every time I pass an intersection, three in all. Finally I shine my light up to see D319. My body weakens at the memory of my time
in this cell. All that time spent recalling my lost memories and preparing for escape. And all that time I was living right next to my presumed-dead brother and didn’t even know it. A lone tear escapes my eye, but I wipe it away before it has the chance to reach my cheek.
I shuffle to the next door, D321, clawing the scratchy stone wall for support. I take a deep breath, hoping that the system override is activated down here. If so, the only thing keeping me from my long lost brother is the archaic manual latch. Using the weight of my body, I push aside the heavy steel latch. The shrill shriek of the latch drives piercing needles into my ears, but that won’t stop me.
I tug the door using more strength than I really needed because it creaks open quite easily. Inside is a void of blackness; no emergency lights. Nothing.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind—what if Drake is not here? What if Glenn told me the wrong number, or if they moved him and put someone else in this cell? Someone dangerous . . .
“Drake?” I call, clicking on the flashlight.
Chapter 28
The huddled chunk of flesh on the floor of the cell that casts a ghostly shadow against the wall is not my brother as I remember. My brother was tall, exceptionally handsome, and built like an ox. This man’s clothes are in rags, his skin pale and sallow, his hair long and stringy and matching the grimy beard that has grown from his jaw. His once muscular frame sinks in atrophy. This man is a skeleton. Not the Drake I knew. Not Evie’s father.
“Drake?” I call out, still unsure if it is some version of my brother that I am seeing.
“Pollen? Is that you?” he croaks. It’s his voice—not the normal healthy Drake, but the Drake who stayed out of school for two weeks with mono when he was seventeen. His throat sounds weak and parched.
“It’s me, Drake. Let’s get you out of here.” I stand at the door, leaning on the frame as my weakness begins to claw at my limbs, too afraid to enter. I know I’m alone on this level, but I still hold on to the idea that someone might have seen me and is waiting for the opportunity to shut the door, trapping me in here. Drake crawls toward me, climbing to his feet. He still towers over me like he used to; but now he’s all skin and bones, skinnier than me—even when I wasn’t pregnant.
“My god, Pollen, it is you,” Drake moans as he cups my face in his hands. He pulls me in tighter, moving his arms around my shoulders and squeezing me so hard I wince in pain. Finally, my emotions catapult me into a tumultuous wilderness. My brother is alive. He’s been alive all this time. I cough into Drake’s shoulder, trying to stifle the sobs. He pulls away abruptly.
“Are you okay, Pollen?”
“No,” I say, but I’m not ready to give him the gory details now about my bleeding wound or the funeral we gave him last summer. “We need to go now.”
“How do we get out of here?” he asks looking down the corridor to the left, then right.
“We need to do something first.” I grasp his face with my palms, and stare sharply into his hollow eyes. “Drake, do you remember where they took you when they . . .” My voice drifts off. I can’t bring myself to say it. Luckily, there aren’t many places they took him to outside of the torture chambers.
“You know about that?” I continue to stare into his eyes and nod. He shakes his head, trying to remove the thought so we can proceed. “Yes.”
“I need you to take me there. You aren’t the only one who needs to be rescued right now.”
In the dim light of the corridors I could see the apprehension in his eyes. His lips tightened into a firm line. “No. Pollen, you need to get out of here now.” The authority in his voice is the only remnant left of his military stature.
“Drake. You don’t know what’s happening right now. There is a battle going on above ground. The power is out because we, the COPS, have attacked. Most of the Enforcers are up there, leaving the lower levels insecure. Here,” I say, pulling the surplus gun from the back of my waistband and handing it to him.
“How did—”
“There’s no time, Drake. We have to go. Follow me.”
I lightly jog down the corridor the way I came, turning my head now and then to be sure Drake is keeping up. His energy seems to be increasing with his newfound freedom, while mine is dwindling. I turn left at the end of the corridor and stop to lean against the wall when we reach the door to the stairwell.
“How many floors up?” I ask.
“Just one, I think. It was always a short ride up the elevator.”
I open the door and listen. There’s some commotion a ways up, but since we are only going one floor I think we can manage to get by unnoticed.
I stumble at the first step, nearly falling on my face, but Drake catches me.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod, lying. I can’t let him know I’m hurt—he’ll never let me continue on my brazen mission. The pain has deepened and I picture a bullet lodged inside my flesh, pinching nerves with every breath I take, every step, even the tiniest fraction of a movement. We continue up the stairs and pause at the door to the next floor.
I crack the door, but I can hear some men talking nearby. Enforcers.
“It’s not clear,” I whisper to Drake.
“How many?”
“Three, I think. Maybe four.”
Drake pulls out the magazine in his gun checking his rounds.
“Enough?” I ask. He nods. “Which way are we going?”
“Left, once we’ve offed these guys.” I wince at the comment. I’ve forgotten that my beloved brother has not only seen war but was an active participant. My brother, who used to play backyard games with me, who used to tease me about my first kiss, who got married and became a single father to Evie, is a killing machine. And I learned something vital about myself today—I don’t like killing people, even the bad guys. Can I do it again? I have to try. For Marcus and Glenn. And Yoric, of course.
Drake pulls my arm, tugging me backward, and squeezes between the door and me so he can go first. I would object, but given his experience, he’d be better suited for this role. Plus I’m hoping he’ll finish off the Enforcers so I don’t have to.
“Stay back,” he whispers, even though I already have my pistol ready in my quaking hands. He presses his ear to the door for a few seconds before he bursts through and starts shooting. My body freezes. Although the shots ring out violently, he seems to carry it off with a touch of grace, the way a ballerina can pull of a pirouette with such ease.
I shake myself out of my trance when I hear the oncoming steps of several people trampling down the steps on the floor above us. I jump through the door, shutting it quickly behind me. Four bodies lie on the floor. One of them is gasping, hanging on to life, while the others are still as rocks. My big brother just took out four men on his own. I’m strangely proud of him.
I stand behind the door, the gun still glued to my fingers as I peer through the tiny rectangular window. In the darkness I see three bodies fly past the door, unstopping. As relief sinks in, an amber light shines on the forearm of one of the men. His sleeve has been torn away, revealing an intricate double helix tattoo. I lose my breath for a second before I swing the door open and stumble back into the stairwell. Drake follows.
“Harrison!” I shout in a whisper. He’s already turned the corner, descending into the lower level, but stops abruptly when he hears me.
“Guys, hold up!” he calls out to his fellow soldiers. Harrison’s dark, shadowy figure climbs back up to meet me. If I hadn’t seen the tattoo I wouldn’t have recognized him. His onyx hair is cropped super short and no trace remains of his trademark golden stripes.
“Pollen? What the hell? Why are you here?” he shouts, still in a whisper.
“Harrison, it’s a long story. Where’s Granby?”
“He stayed above ground with the troops. We just released the infinity fly in their greenhouse. Come with us—we’re getting out of here.”
“Marcus, Glenn and Yoric have been captured.”
“Marcus an
d Yoric, you said?” says the shadowy figure behind Harrison. I lean over to study him, but all I can make out are the whites of his eyes, reflecting the yellow light. It can only be Nicron.
“And Glenn,” I correct. I know he’s probably the least popular person among this crowd, but I refuse to leave without him.
I’m not sure who the other person is in their group, but he’s remaining silent in the back.
“Damn,” mumbles Nicron. The three soldiers look at each other and seem to make some sort of silent agreement.
“Harrison, take Kharma and get out of here. I’m going with them.” Harrison nods and glances back at me sweetly before he and Kharma shuffle back down the stairs.
“Where are they?” Nicron asks.
Drake steps forward. “This level holds several torture chambers. I’ll lead you to the ones I’m familiar with and we’ll go from there. You armed?”
Nicron nods and lifts up his semiautomatic rifle.
“Let’s go,” Drake commands.
I follow Drake to the heap of flesh and watch as he kicks off the still breathing Enforcer’s helmet and hammers one more bullet through the eye. My memory flashes back to the attack in the woods, when Glenn did the same thing to the bounty hunter. I shake my head slightly to wipe the vision from my mind.
“Lead the way,” I say, as we leap over the newborn corpses. Drake turns back and takes a gun from one of the bodies.
“We’ll need more,” I say, thinking of the imprisoned men.
“How many?”
“All of them.”
Drake takes two, and I slip one into my waistband and hand the other to Nicron. He shakes his head.
“You take it,” he whispers.
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