He riffles through the papers in the center of the table and pulls one out. It’s worn, with faded colors that run in lines across the paper. I squint at it. I haven’t seen many maps, and I have a hard time reconciling the lines with my knowledge of the streets of D.C.
“This is a map of the old metro that forms the majority of the Undercity. We drew these lines for our reference. Here is Dupont Shelter,” he says, pointing to a circle on the map. He glides his finger lower. “And this is the downtown area.” I begin to see how the tunnels relate to the streets above, to reconcile them with the map in my head. “Each color represents a different level. They can be accessed at these junctions, circled in green. Deice will carry the map so you can keep your bearings down there.”
“And how do we move through the city undetected?” Ryanne asks. She looks pale under the dark tone of her skin. “Are we doing this in AM?”
Deice gives her a stern look. “The Undercity still operates on the old sleep pattern. They’re awake in what you call AM. That’s daytime.”
She frowns, but I can tell this display of her ignorance has her flustered. I hesitate, then touch her shoulder. She reaches up to pat my hand absently.
“We want the sleeping gas to knock out as many people as possible,” Lucio says. “So we need to trigger it where Undercitizens are clustered. That means they’ll be awake. But don’t worry. We’ll make sure you blend in so you can move through the city undetected.”
Sloan looks around the room, staring hard at those who were scavs.
Lucio begins folding up the map. “You'll spend the rest of this PM and the next AM gathering your gear and making preparations. We need to proceed as quickly as possible, before the Coalition finds the breach in their defenses, so you’ll move out come next PM. I can’t give you more time than that.”
“But won’t there be scavs and Coalition sentries about in the PM? Isn't that dangerous?” Mardy’s voice quivers, and I look over at her. She’s pale. I grab her hand and squeeze.
Lucio turns to Mardy. His expression softens, like a parent reassuring a child that the boogeyman doesn’t exist. “Everything we are doing here is dangerous. But sometimes danger is necessary. I believe we are all about to become heroes.” He looks around the room, eyeing each of us in turn. “I know you will all make me proud. Just remember who we are doing this for—those you have lost, those who are wronged. We will avenge them, and we will ensure that no one suffers such loss again.”
CHAPTER 22
The snip of scissors is immediately followed by soft, fine hair that falls onto my face, tickling my nose.
“Hold still!” Sloan snaps. I put my hand back down in my lap under the fabric draped around my neck. “What did you use to cut your hair before? A can lid?”
“I didn't have scissors,” I retort. “Just a kitchen knife. Scissors were hard to come by.”
Sloan grunts, and snips off another lock of my hair. It falls to the floor around me in a ring of brown.
“Will my hair look like yours?” I ask after a few more snips. Sloan has used something she calls gel to make her hair stand up in spikes all along the top of her head.
“I told Lucio I'm not a hairstylist, but I'm doing my best here. It’s a far sight better than your attempt.”
“What did you do in the Undercity?” I ask hesitantly. “I mean, for a living?” Jate said Sloan had been caught stealing, but that probably wasn’t her regular job.
“You’ve got more curiosity than what’s good for you.” Sloan yanks at my hair, making me wince. “I can't see why Lucio chose you for this mission, you and your sister. You have a broken arm, and Mardy's the youngest one of the group. You certainly wouldn’t be my first choice. You'll only slow us down. Besides, you're ignorant of Undercity ways. You'll find it hard to blend in.”
She’s voiced the same concerns I’ve had myself. But coming from her, the words are hard to take.
I jerk my head away from her treatment. “I don't know why Lucio chose me,” I retort. “I just do what I'm told.”
She swings the scissors around so the points are almost touching my chin. I suck in a slow breath. “You just remember that, scav,” she says in a low voice. “No more stunts like you pulled on me in the training room. Keep your head down and your nose clean, and maybe you won’t get us all killed.”
She moves the scissors away, and I leap out of the chair, yanking the cloth off my neck. It falls to the floor in a heap. “I have a warning for you too.” My voice trembles with rage. “Stay away from my sister!”
Sloan waves the scissors in front of me, as though daring me to attack her while she’s holding a weapon. “Oh, don’t worry. If I have a bone to pick, it’ll be with you.”
I storm out, slamming my good hand against the door, throwing it open so it bounces against the wall and comes back at me.
“That's right—get out of here. I was finished anyway.” She picks up a makeup pencil and begins drawing lines around her eyes in the mirror. “And send Ryanne in here. She's the only one who still needs a makeover.”
With each step, I imagine I’m grinding Sloan's taunting face into the hotel carpet. If she hadn’t been holding those sharp scissors, I would have punched her right in the nose. But as I start to calm down, I realize it wouldn’t be a good idea to attack one of my team members right before an important mission.
I stalk out the hotel door into the more abandoned tunnels of the shelter. I need to blow off some steam. But Mardy’s stack of tiles are abandoned when I come to them. She’s probably in the storage rooms, getting her gear from Keldon.
I stand for several long moments in front of the nearly-finished mosaic on the wall, taking deep breaths and lecturing myself to chill. I always have to work to see Mardy’s vision in the pieces she puts together. After several long moments of studying it, I start to make out a central face in the picture. I think I recognize Lucio’s features. There’s a crowd of people below him, looking up. In the background is a tunnel, and I wonder if it’s meant to be the Undercity.
Mardy still hasn’t arrived, so I decide to keep going until I reach the shooting range. I’ve spent every free moment there since Ryanne first showed me the place. I'm getting a little better, but I still don't feel like I've got the hang of it.
My anger finally sloughs away as I walk, listening to my footsteps echo. I’ve secured my own pair of boots now, and they’re much better than those I had topside. After a moment, I realize I can hear the whisper of voices mingling with my steps. I slow down, hesitating.
Far ahead, two figures stand in the shadows between pools of light. Though I can’t understand what’s being said, I recognize the tone of urgency, the anxiety. As I approach, some of the words become clearer, layered on top of each other in echoes.
“... should we do?”
“Nothing. At this point, he’s just guessing.”
“I think it's more than a guess. What if he tracked me?”
“I told you to trust the inhibitor. It won’t—”
I recognize them at the same time they see me. Jate drops his hand from Ryanne’s shoulder. Ryanne jerks around and gapes at me. Her expression is distraught, more haggard than I've ever seen her. I can tell she’s been crying. The shadows are dark and deep underneath her eyes.
“What's wrong, Ryanne?” I ask, alarmed.
Ryanne’s expression shifts like clay as she pulls on a mask of false cheer. “Nothing. Just a little stressed about the mission. You look amazing, by the way.”
I frown at her change of subject. I can’t force her to share a confidence with me. “Sloan is looking for you. It's your turn for a makeover.”
Ryanne laughs, but it’s a strangled sound, not her usual airy tinkle. “Guess I’d better get a move on. Sloan can get pretty antsy. Instead of cutting it, she's likely to yank my hair right out of my head.”
She scuttles off down the tunnel the way I came. I bite my lower lip as I watch her go.
“Better not do that,” Jate says. “You�
��ll ruin that makeup job.”
I turn to Jate. There’s something in his expression I haven’t noticed before, like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“What?” I ask testily. I touch my newly shorn hair self-consciously. Only now do I realize that I stormed out of Sloan's presence so quickly that I didn't get a chance to look at myself in the mirror. What kind of hairstyle did Sloan give me?
Jate’s smile is quick. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I like the new ‘do.’” I'm not sure I believe him. “Shouldn't you be gathering your gear?”
I raise one eyebrow. “Shouldn't you?”
“I guess we both should.” But he doesn’t make a move to leave, so neither do I.
“I was just heading to the shooting range. I thought I’d get in a round of practice.”
“You want another lesson?”
Before I can answer, he’s striding toward the shooting range. I scurry to catch up.
Taking a deep breath, I plunge in. “What were you and Ryanne talking about?”
Jate has regained his composure. “Ryanne was just worried about the mission, that's all. This is a big one.” His manner is flippant, and he seems too quick to excuse what I saw, but he distracts me with his next words.
“Caelin, I'm sorry about what happened last PM,” he says. “Will you believe me if I say I'm glad you're here?”
I glance up at him. Walking this close, he towers over me by a good foot. “Well, at least somebody’s happy to have me around.”
“Referring to Sloan? She can be harsh sometimes.”
“That's an understatement.”
He stops suddenly, turning on me. “You didn't get into another fight, did you?”
“I kept myself reined in this time.”
“That's good. I wouldn't want you to take her out right before an important mission.”
I scoff at him. “Me, take her out? She's a trained fighter. I can tell by the way she moves. What did she do in the Undercity, besides steal stuff?”
He barks a laugh. “She was an engineer.” I gape at him. “No, it's true. She won't tell anybody. She's worked really hard to become as good a soldier as she is now. She's been with Lucio almost from the beginning. She's a team player—ferocious in a fight, not afraid of anything.”
We arrive at the door to the shooting range. Talking about Sloan is bringing my anger to the surface again. Jate’s praise of her makes me feel like the inferior scav she says I am.
“Well, she needs a lesson in manners!” I stalk through the door. “Does she think she’s worth more just because she’s been around longer than me?” I grab a gun from the cabinet, check the charge and the disk, and move to the fence. “I mean, I guess she has a point. I am a scav. I could barely keep myself and Mardy from starving to death. What good am I to the Impartialists?” I take aim.
Jate watches me. I adjust my aim, hypersensitive to his scrutiny. I do everything he showed me.
“You have a lot of valuable qualities you don't realize you have.” He speaks slowly, as though mulling over the words, choosing just the right ones. “You can be fearless too, just like Sloan, except that you know when to fight, when to hide. Sloan would have never taken those Coalition soldiers by surprise. She would've been caught like the rest of us.”
His words warm my insides, start to dissipate the anger. I'm not sure if he is just saying these things to make me feel better, or if he really believes them. I adjust my sights one more time and squeeze the trigger. I remain steady, absorbing the kick throughout my entire body.
“You’re fiercely loyal—to your sister, to your friends,” Jate continues. “Ryanne can’t say enough about how amazing you are. And you're smart, beautiful—”
His last item shocks me. I turn, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s staring past me, at the target.
“And a super-great shot!” He leaps over the fence, approaching the target to look at it closer. “You hit the bull's-eye! You’ve been practicing, haven't you?”
“I guess so.” I laugh a little. “Yes. Every spare minute.”
He picks up the target and brings it back to me. I can see a clear hole in the center. I hit it right in the middle.
Now he is studying my face again. “We need you on the team.”
“Because I'm a good shot?” I scoff, looking up at him. “Lucio doesn't even know about that. Why did he put me on your team?”
Jate sets the target aside and places his hands on my shoulders across the fence. His touch is warm, even through the thick fabric of the sweater I'm wearing. His thumbs trace lazy circles that send shivers down my spine. “I asked for you.”
I know he meant for this admission to be endearing, but it makes me angry instead. “Did you ask for Mardy too? She's not old enough to fight! She shouldn't be coming!”
He drops his hands. “Every time I try to get close to you, you prickle up like a porcupine! No! I didn't recommend Mardy. Lucio insisted that she come along.”
I step back from him. His mirrored reaction deflates my own anger. I wipe my hand across my face, feeling weary, spent. “I'm sorry. I just ... I just worry about her.”
“That's perfectly natural. She's your sister. You’ve taken care of her for a long time. You want her to be safe.”
I retreat to put the gun away. “But I’m not supposed to care about that anymore. I made an oath to Lucio.”
“That’s easy to say, but hard to do.”
Does Jate know that from experience? I speak hesitantly, stumbling over the words. “I thought, maybe, that you and Ryanne had ... something—”
“No.” Jate’s voice is quiet, even in the echoing room. “I mean, don't get me wrong. Ryanne’s been my second for a long time. We have a strong friendship, and I value her skills and opinions. But I just don't ... don't feel that way about her.”
The silence hangs heavy between us. I can't bring myself to turn around, to look at him. I work up my courage to speak again. “I'm sorry I’m always pushing you away. I've lost people I loved before. I guess I'm just afraid to get close to others again. I don't want to lose any of my new friends.”
“I know what that feels like.”
I swallow hard, lifting my chin. “I think everybody does.” I turn for the door. I realize that I'm doing it again, running from him, but I can't stop. “We’d better get our gear, or Keldon will think we dropped down a hole.”
Our walk to the training room is silent. There’s a gulf between us that I can't get across.
CHAPTER 23
I wonder if somebody filled my boots with rocks as I walk down the hall of the hotel. It’s the middle of AM. I should be sleeping, but we have strict instructions to stay awake. Jate says it’s the best way to get on Undercity time. We’ll be able to sleep once we’re there.
The techs worked their magic so some of the lights are still on, and I can read the numbers beside the doors. I knock gently when I get to seven. A familiar voice calls for me to enter.
“Hudson found me and told me to come,” I tell Gemma as I slip through the door.
The room has only one bed, and there’s a flat board on top of it. Instruments and medicines crowd the dresser top. Gemma is busy transferring a few of them to the nightstand.
“Get on the bed.” She doesn’t even look at me.
I climb up onto the bed and lay on the board. It’s uncomfortable. She picks up a thin metal wand attached to a monitor and runs it along my broken arm. There’s a tightness in her face that hasn’t been there before. I sense that her humor has fled today. Maybe she’s low on sleep too. Her eyes are certainly red.
“Looks like the bone is knit well enough,” Gemma says curtly. “Let’s take the cast off.”
“Are you sure you’re not rushing things because of the mission?” I ask.
“Who’s the medic here?” she snaps. “I injected you twice with accelerator. The bone’s healed.” She picks up an instrument with a round blade and presses a button. It whirs to life with a low hum, and she places the circ
ular blade against the hard form of the cast. It begins to cut through with a grinding sound. I grit my teeth, hoping she’s not so sleep deprived that she forgets to stop the saw before it reaches my skin.
Gemma’s lips are pursed tightly together as she works, and she stays silent. The air in the room seems heavy, as though it’s pushing me down into the bed. I keep as still as possible until she’s done and the cast comes off in two pieces.
“The muscles will be weak, so it’ll take some time to build them up again. Don’t do anything stupid and rebreak it, you hear me?”
She turns to put the blade back on the small table, and I scratch my arm at last. The skin is dry, the color even whiter than my other arm. The muscles are thin and shriveled, like a bare tree branch. But I can bend it and move it around, in spite of a slight lingering soreness. I start to sit up.
“Not so fast.” Gemma pushes me back gently. She holds something else, a small round cylinder similar to the flashlight Jate uses. “Hold still.” She places the instrument over the hexagon on my chest. It’s been several days now since the oath ceremony, and the injection site doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m starting to get used to it and haven’t thought much about it lately.
I hesitate, remembering her grumpy reaction before. “What are you doing?”
She takes a deep breath, as though calming herself. “Giving your implant some new programming that will get you past the security of the Undercity. And activating your tracker device.”
Even though I realize it’s important for them to know where I am, I still feel uncomfortable about it, as though they’re violating my privacy. I swallow hard. “What good is it to track me, when I’m in the Undercity? Even if I get lost, nobody from Dupont can help me, down there.”
She turns off the cylinder and leans slowly into me. I press my back into the board, away from her, but she doesn’t stop until we’re nose to nose. “There are other uses for a tracking device. Just make sure you don’t wander from where you’re supposed to be.” She stands up suddenly and turns away. “Get out of here.”
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