With a wave, Quentin followed the steps I’d taken, levering himself up and onto the ceiling. I pretended I didn’t see his arms shake as they took the brunt of his weight. I didn’t help him either – wouldn’t want to bruise that pride of his.
Once clear of the opening, I walked to the far side of the elevator shaft. ‘Stay on the support beam,’ I instructed.
‘Don’t you need to …?’ He pointed to the open hatch.
I shook my head. ‘Gus will hold the lift here for us for thirty minutes.’
‘He can do that?’
‘With the right contacts. Sure.’ Actually, it was damn hard to do and each time it cost us more money than we had to spare. It wasn’t just about hacking into the building’s electrics, but also paying off the night security to be particularly lazy in their rounds, and rerouting all other lifts to compensate for one being down. But Quentin didn’t need to know all of that.
‘Where does that go?’ he asked when he realised I’d stopped at a slim door between elevator levels.
I ignored his question and gestured to his M-Band. ‘Any chance anyone could track your GPS in the next twenty minutes?’
‘No, but I can put a haze on it just to be sure.’ He tapped a few keys.
‘You have a haze on your GPS?’ Hazes were expensive stuff and required a rigorous amount of paperwork and government clearances. They sent out a frequency wave to stop your GPS giving a pinpoint location. If the police had an emergency, they could override it, but even then, it would take time. Hazes were reserved for the seriously rich and famous. Which … he was.
He shrugged. ‘It’s a security precaution. The whole family has them, just in case anyone ever harasses us. Or in Zach’s case, if his wife is looking for him,’ he said with a grim smile, referring to his brother Zachery. ‘We’re not supposed to tell people we have them.’
‘Your secret’s safe.’ But I was totally jealous. Having a haze on my GPS would come in handy. Not that anyone was often looking for me, but still … I was often where I wasn’t supposed to be.
‘One more,’ he muttered as I opened the door.
We were silent as we headed down the tunnel. I listened intently for any sign of activity. The entrance wasn’t supposed to be guarded, but I’d been surprised before. I turned a corner carefully, grateful that Quentin was following my lead.
When we reached the larger tunnel network with the transit lines, Quentin was dazed, taking in the slim, flat tracks.
‘What is this place?’ he whispered.
I looked at him, feeling a pang of unwelcome sorrow. But he needed to be put to the test if I was going to be able to use him. And he deserved to know the truth.
‘Transit tunnels. And since this main one has no patrols, it’s the safest way to get around down here. The side tunnels are a different matter,’ I explained. Quentin stared at me and I let out a breath. ‘It was once all government property,’ I said. He didn’t need to know that the intricate system ran all the way to Mt Weather’s main facility. ‘Now, it’s a world of secrets.’
Maybe if he knew, just maybe, he could do something useful with the knowledge. If he was the guy I was starting to suspect he was.
From that point on, he was mostly silent. Just the fact that this place existed, let alone was controlled by his father’s company … It was a lot to take in and I didn’t push.
Walking briskly, I heard a familiar whirr and froze.
‘What’s wr—’ Quentin started to say. But he never had a chance to finish because, without a second thought, I fisted my hands in his shirt and pushed him into the shadows of the wall. I pressed into his body hard, willing us to melt into the wall, as the transit pod approached then whizzed by us at top speed. I didn’t dare glance behind me to see if there were any passengers aboard. I just waited. Listening for any sign that the pod was slowing or stopping. If it did, we were toast.
‘What the hell was that?’ Quentin breathed.
His chest was moving up and down in time with mine and I concentrated on it, using the distraction to calm myself down. I wasn’t sure if either one of our heart rates had beeped off. If they had, it would’ve been covered by the noise of the pod.
‘Transit pod,’ I said tightly. ‘That’s why there are no foot patrols in this tunnel.’
‘A bit of warning might’ve been nice,’ he said dryly.
A few moments passed and I kept concentrating on my breathing.
‘Um, Maggie?’ Quentin said.
‘Yeah?’ I replied, still distracted.
‘As nice as this is, I … I can’t breathe.’
It was then I realised I still had my body, head to toe, pressed flush against his. I jumped back. ‘Sorry,’ I said, quickly starting forwards again to cover my embarrassment.
Why the hell had I been so panicked? I’d done this how many times now? Why was tonight any different?
I glanced at Quentin. ‘Hurry up,’ I snapped.
Two junctions down we arrived at the doorway we needed.
‘Junction 17,’ Quentin said, reading the painted sign.
I put out my hand, still annoyed with myself. And him by default. ‘Code?’
Quentin read out the sequence, including spaces, and I entered it, wondering if this was it. If he’d set me up. Any moment sirens could sound and guards with more weapons than they knew what to do with could be on top of me. But this was part of the gamble. There was no way forwards without it.
The screen beeped, causing me to flinch, then required an M-Band verification barcode. I was grateful yet again for having Gus in my pocket. I reached into my backpack, pulled out the black-market band he’d programmed earlier and held it up for scanning. Like the others, it was untraceable and had been uploaded with a mid-level M-Corp scientist’s credentials. Ones that we’d anonymously extorted from him after I secured pictures of him downing lust-enhancers at Burn one night. It wasn’t just girlfriend concerns – though they’d definitely helped – it was highly frowned upon in M-Corp to alter Phera-tech. Although when you knew where those alterations actually come from, it was ironic.
Another thing Quentin probably didn’t need to know.
The door opened and we slipped in.
The lab was dimly lit, but there was enough light to see where we were going. I left Quentin to his wide-eyed explorations and headed straight for the main office, knowing that if there was any intel, it would be in the main computer.
I jumped right into my usual routine, pulling up the access files I needed while I called Gus again.
‘In?’ he answered.
‘Like Flynn.’
‘Give me the IP address?’
I rattled it off and then a series of other numbers Gus demanded, until he was satisfied. ‘Okay, plug it in.’
The data transmitter looked like an ordinary USB stick and was a much smarter option than trying to use any M-Corp tech to hack into their system. The transmitter was old school, like our phones, but Gus had also tweaked it so it would send him a mirror image of any computer we plugged it into. I glanced up to see Quentin moving around the stainless-steel lab silently, picking up paper files and glancing at them in horror. I could imagine what he was seeing on those files was as simple as transport orders, experimentation approvals and behavioural reports, but even that was enough for him to realise the face M-Corp showed the world was not the same as the truth underground. Not to mention the sterile environment, and the fact that it wasn’t supposed to exist. It was eye-opening stuff. And this was one of the small labs.
Quentin stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the far wall, and I strained my eyes in the low light to see what he was looking towards.
‘Streaming,’ I told Gus. Anxiously, I waited while he uploaded what he could. His hacking systems were incredible and nearly undetectable. As long as we got out of there unseen they would never know we’d been there. While I waited, I pulled out the small vial I’d brought with me and palmed it, ignoring the all-too-frequent twinge in my gut.
‘I can
only access the files that guy’s ID was cleared for,’ Gus mumbled. Uploads were never a sure thing, and there was always a two-minute time limit before we had to pull the plug, just in case. ‘Okay, pull it,’ he said, and a second later the plug was out of the computer and I was closing all of the screens I’d opened, carefully ensuring I left the computer exactly as I’d found it, including the angle of the keyboard and mouse.
‘Anything?’ I asked Gus.
‘I’m looking, looking … maybe,’ he muttered. I started to move back into the main room, phone still to my ear, seeing now why Quentin was stock-still. He was staring at a wall of empty glass cages.
Human-sized.
‘Oh shit, Maggie,’ came Gus’s voice.
‘What?’ I asked, now alert.
‘Get out of there. It’s a cleaning day.’
I felt the blood drain from my face. ‘A cleaning day,’ I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. Quentin, as if sensing the problem, turned to me.
‘At Junction 18. You’re too close. Haul ass,’ Gus insisted. He almost sounded worried about me, but I knew better. I had tech on me that, in the right hands, could be traced back to him. He was in danger too.
I didn’t respond. Silence surrounded me, but inside my mind was screaming out orders to do something. Quentin was watching me intently, wondering what the hell was happening. I stared back at him briefly, wondering the same thing.
‘Damn it, Maggie. I can hear your mind thinking something very, very bad,’ Gus said.
‘How long left on the elevator?’ I asked.
‘Seventeen minutes. You don’t have time!’
‘We’ll be back in time.’ And then I hung up the phone as Quentin stepped closer.
I opened my palm, showing him the vial. ‘It’s for your disruption. It was all I could find, but it’s enough to make a few doses.’ He eyed the vial and watched carefully as I placed it in my backpack.
‘What’s a cleaning day?’ Quentin asked.
I huffed, angry that he could be so naive. ‘Where do you think they all go, Quentin? The negs?’
He wet his lips, feeling my anger. ‘Rehabilitation farms,’ he answered, trying to stand tall, but already wavering.
I started walking back the way we’d come, careful to make sure everything was as we found it.
‘And how many farms have you visited?’ I hissed as we exited the lab and returned to the tunnels.
‘A few. Three, maybe four. There is one in every state.’
I couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that bubbled out. ‘Gus was right. You really have no idea. Do you honestly think all the negs go to rehab?’ Before he could answer, I walked on, in the opposite direction to the one that led us back to the elevator and out of here. ‘Let me ask you this, Quentin Mercer.’ His name fell harshly from my lips. ‘How many negs do you know who have been reintroduced to society?’
Keeping pace, he answered, ‘We’re not supposed to know them. They’re given new identities and places to live so that they can start fresh. That’s how we protect them, Maggie,’ he said my name with the same vehemence that I’d just delivered to him.
Moving faster now, increasing to a run, I could feel myself beginning to shake with fury.
‘Where are we going?’ he snapped.
Not slowing, I looked over my shoulder at him. ‘You’ll never believe it until you see it.’
‘What else is down here?’
I slowed when I saw the opening that signalled we were at Junction 18 and blew out a breath before meeting his eyes, keeping my voice low. ‘Down here is where M-Corp plays God.’
Eleven
Junction 18 had been scheduled for cleaning. That meant it was crawling with security – the kind who had really big guns and weren’t opposed to using them. But I had one thing going for me: Junction 18 had been one of the first communities I’d visited underground and I knew how to stay unnoticed.
There were dozens of soldiers near the main entrance, taking orders and generally milling about in case there was any excitement. They were all big men, dressed in intimidating combat uniforms and laden with weapons. But that wasn’t why they frightened me. It was their hardened eyes. They were in this place because they were the best. Or rather, the worst. Soldiers in the underground were all negs. This was about as much rehabilitation as any neg could hope for – the chance to become a soldier for hire. And M-Corp had the cream of the crop. For the soldiers, the alternative was final and all the motivation they needed. They killed in a blink and followed orders without question. Without fail.
I noticed the pod we’d seen zoom by earlier was parked at the entrance, probably on standby.
Staying in the shadows, I led Quentin down a narrow, unused tunnel to the side. He stayed close enough that I heard the muted beep of his M-Band go off. I wondered fleetingly why he didn’t have a vibrate accessory on his heart-rate zip. Even I could afford one of those. I bit my lip, my thoughts going one step further to consider the possibility he might simply prefer to beat the heart-rate beep. Like me. Whatever the reason, I was impressed he’d had the foresight to keep it covered. No one else would’ve heard it.
Finally, we came to a small opening. It wasn’t much, just a ventilation hole and emergency exit. No one would use this tunnel unless they didn’t want to be seen.
I crouched down on all fours and crawled to the edge. Quentin followed my lead wordlessly. The ground was hard-packed dirt, rough with gravel, and we had to be careful not to stir up a dust cloud and draw attention to ourselves.
Nearing the edge, I dropped onto my stomach and levered up onto my elbows. Quentin mimicked my movements, shuffling commando style behind me.
The community below was similar to the last one I’d visited. Like a salad bowl carved out of granite. And within the bowl, a small group of buildings that I knew were dorm-style prisons.
Security and other uniformed personnel were moving between the buildings quickly, making short time of a messy job.
There were dump piles outside each of the buildings. And they were growing larger as more and more items were tossed onto them.
‘What is all that stuff?’ Quentin whispered.
I glanced at him. His face was a multitude of questions.
‘Clothes, sheets, anything else they can find.’
I pointed to the far side of the community, where a large truck had been driven in through an aqueduct. People in plain grey uniforms were being loaded into the truck.
‘Who are they?’
‘Negs,’ I answered.
I cast my eye over them carefully, out of habit more than anything else. I’d already checked this community. I knew Dad wasn’t down there, but I couldn’t stop myself.
‘Where are they going?’ he asked.
I didn’t answer.
‘Maggie, tell me!’ he ordered.
We were running low on time. But he needed to see this.
‘There are so many more negs than they ever told you or anyone else about. They’re herded up and locked away. There are dozens of cell communities like this down here. Dozens.’
Quentin listened to me, glancing between me and the community.
‘But still, there isn’t enough room to fit all the negs,’ I went on. ‘Eventually they need to clear a space and start again.’
‘Where do the people go?’ His voice was lower now, filled with a new dread.
I began to shuffle back from the opening and into the dark tunnel. Quentin followed, watching me closely. My phone vibrated and I glanced at Gus’s message.
When my eyes connected with Quentin’s, I answered the only way I knew how. ‘Down here, they’re not people. They’re negs.’ I let the word hang for a moment. ‘We have to go,’ I added with a little more force.
Quentin shadowed me, moving at a quick pace. Just as we rounded the corner to get back into the main transit tunnel, Quentin grabbed me, pulling me back into the narrow side tunnel. Eyes wide, I watched as he put his finger to his lips, guarding me with his body
as I had done for him earlier. Instinctively I wanted to push him off and take charge, but he held my eyes knowingly, holding me in place. A few seconds later, two guards walked by. Quentin stuck his head around the corner. ‘They’ve gone down a side tunnel,’ he whispered, releasing me.
Stunned by the close call, I licked my dry lips and nodded. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘Glad to be of use.’
Carefully, I led us through the transit tunnel until we were well clear of Junction 18. Then we started to run.
‘How much time do we have?’ Quentin asked. He was starting to run out of steam and I didn’t blame him.
‘Seven minutes.’ When Gus had messaged me, it had been ten and I’d been keeping count since then.
Quentin baulked. ‘It’s at least a fifteen-minute trip back.’
He was right and I didn’t know of any closer exit points. But I had one card left to play.
When we arrived back at Junction 17, I grabbed the public phone by the wall to the entrance. ‘Stay over there,’ I ordered Quentin.
He was getting frustrated. And scared. It was a good sign that his self-preservation was still intact.
I glanced up at the tunnel camera. It would come on, since I was using the phone. These ones only activated when they knew they had activity, so I kept close to the wall where all it would catch was the top of my head.
‘Transit request, press star,’ the automated message said. I did as instructed.
‘Transit destination?’
I pressed the number six, sending it far beyond where we needed to go, so as not to leave a trail.
‘Transit deployed. Arrival in … forty-five seconds,’ the computer responded.
I hung up and positioned us out of the oncoming pod’s line of sight, making sure I kept clear of the camera as well. If the camera wasn’t off by the time the pod came by, it would be more difficult. But I was out of options.
‘Maggie,’ Quentin began, but I cut him off.
‘Stay back against the wall. When the transit pod arrives, wait until I signal for you.’ I narrowed my eyes at him and pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him further towards the wall. ‘I mean it. Not until I signal, no matter what. Do you understand?’
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