“Go to hell!” one man shouts, refusing to comply with the orders issued. He lifts a plate from the table and cocks his arm to throw it, but the minute his hand rears, the deadly swish of an arrow slicing the air is followed by the thwack of its tip hitting its mark. The plate drops to the ground and the man clutches his chest, an arrow lodged in his heart at the center of an expanding circle of crimson.
“Everyone down or we will open fire on all of you!” the guard who shot the man says with a triumphant glint in his eye.
Everyone in the room heeds his warning, even me. The fear of getting someone else killed—my sister or one of my friends—motivates me.
As soon as the cool stone touches my belly, my arms are yanked and twisted behind me. “What the heck—” I try to twist, but a boot rests against the back of my neck.
“Don’t move,” a male voice growls.
“What’s going on? What’re you doing to her?” Sully’s voice is panicked and unlike I’ve ever heard it.
“She’s done here. You hear me, girl? You’re done here!” the guard hisses.
“Let her go!” Sully shouts and a small commotion ensues. I hear June’s shrill cry, and my worry for her, for all of them, multiplies tenfold.
“No Sully, don’t!” I plead desperately. “Take care of June.”
My words barely have time to make it to his ears. I’m heaved off the ground and half-dragged out of the cafeteria.
As I’m hauled down a dark and dank hallway, the realization that I’ve ruined any chances of a peaceful existence in New Washington for myself, my sister and my friends doesn’t come as a shock to me. And I don’t care. New Washington, in all its gilded glory, does not glitter at its core. It is a corrupt place, dangerous in its own right, in which I do not want my sister to live. I don’t want to spend another minute here.
Chapter 19
The room around me spins. Panic settles over me like a mist of icy rain, bleeding my body of warmth. The chaotic swell of shouting and the flurry of activity surrounding me are over. I am alone and sitting on the hard, cold floor. My eyes roam my surroundings. Three walls of stone, one wall of bars, that’s all I see. The space is unnaturally silent, save for the soft drip of condensation coming from somewhere in the dark shadows that stretch beyond my cell. I stand and move to the bars, pressing my face to them as I try to peer beyond the gloom, but see nothing. The guards who left me here are long gone. They’ve left me to wait until my fate, and the fate of June and the others, is handed down.
I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds, my forehead leaning against the cool metal of the bars, and feel the thick knot in my stomach ball tighter. The sting of tears, angry tears, burns my eyes. I furiously blink them back. Crying will do me no good here, especially since here isn’t much better than being above ground. At least on the surface, we are free to go where we want to go, and girls are not stolen from their beds to serve their President’s sick needs. Urthmen are our innate enemies, and they have been for centuries. The Lurkers reside only in the forests and are also clearly defined adversaries. In New Washington, the line between enemies and allies is blurred. The people of Washington Central regard those in GenPop as lesser beings who aren’t even permitted to visit their section of the city unless doing so in a servile capacity. All of us are human beings seeking shelter from Urthmen and the elements above ground, yet distinctions are made. Lines are drawn. The population is separated and unbalanced. No such muddling occurs above ground. Everyone is equal, and everyone fights to survive.
While I’d prefer to shelter June and keep her as far from both Lurkers and Urthmen as humanly possible, the more I learn and understand about New Washington, the clearer it becomes to me that I’d rather take my chances on the surface. I never thought I’d feel this way. This kind of shelter, finding a colony of people, is all I ever hoped for. Learning of its existence was a dream come true. But the dream was an illusion.
I shove against the bars and push myself backward, muttering under my breath. If I’m to be removed from New Washington and released to the surface, why is the President delaying? Why leave me here in a cell, when ultimately, my punishment has already been determined? Those questions, along with many others, roll around in my head like oversized burrs, pricking and piercing everything in their wake. I rub my temples, frustration gathering within me. I don’t want to stand here waiting to hear my fate. I rush to the bars again and shout, “Hey! How long will I be kept here?”
The darkness answers back with staunch silence.
“Just let me go! Release me above ground!” I call out again and am met with utter stillness.
The quiet is deafening, maddening. I turn and begin to pace, left alone with my thoughts for what feels like days, though I imagine it’s only hours. When my legs tire I sit, waiting, still waiting.
Exhausted from the night before and tempted by the darkness and quiet, my eyelids become heavy. I’m about to close them when the sharp clack of footsteps echoes from down the corridor. I spring to my feet, my heart vaulting to my throat as it sets off at a gallop.
The footsteps draw closer and a voice speaks. “Oh Avery, what have you done now?” President Sullivan’s voice is ripe with righteous indignation as it carries down the tunnel and fills the chamber, echoing against the stone walls. He clearly hoped to startle me silent. Little does he know, I’m not easily startled, and I’m not easily silenced.
His voice is like thousands of insect feelers scuttling over my skin at once. “I was trying to inform the people of this place, you know, about your fetish for little girls.” Acid drips from my words. I cannot see him yet, but I heard the rhythm of his footsteps falter slightly. “Just throw me out of here and get it over with already. Why put me in here? All the pageantry, it’s ridiculous. Just send me back to the surface!”
Slow and steady footsteps make their way toward me. President Sullivan comes into view. Clad in a dark suit, dark boots and that idiotic robe of his that sweeps along the dusty floor, he carries a lantern, the glow of it adding shadow to the hollows of his features and giving him a sinister appearance.
He stops in front of the bars and narrows his eyes at me. “Oh, trust me, I would have. But it appears we have a problem.”
“I don’t care about your problems,” I snap.
President Sullivan’s face contorts into a manic sneer. “Well you should! They’re your fault, you and that stupid son of mine!” he screams.
Wiping the spittle that sprayed from his mouth to my face when he shouted, I ask, “What’re you talking about?”
He rips a device from the pocket of his cloak and aims it at the stone wall behind me. A television screen brightens. “This! This is what I’m talking about!”
An eerie shiver sweeps across my skin. The desert appears on the screen, and it’s dotted with what I guess are thousands of Urthmen standing around, waiting. My lips part of their own accord. I’m about to gasp when a familiar face fills the screen. The General glares, his ice-blue eyes glacial tunnels that bore through miles of earth and rock and freeze my pulse mid-beat. My heart drops, a cold chill racing through my body. It’s as if he sees me, or at the very least, knows I’m watching.
“Is that right above us?” I ask.
“Yes, you fool! You led them right to us! We have survived down here for more than two hundred years, unnoticed and unbothered, until now, until you and my son ruined it for everyone!” President Sullivan shouts so loudly the veins in his neck bulge. His hair, usually styled meticulously, sticks out at the sides lending him the appearance of a madman.
I lunge toward the bars, my nose inches from his. “We have to go out and fight,” I say.
President Sullivan rears his head back as if he’s just been struck. His eyes bug out and his voice pitches up an octave. “Are you insane? Those are experienced soldiers. We can’t fight them!”
Ignoring his reaction, I persist. “How many people are down here?”
“We have ten thousand in General Population and
another thousand in Washington Central,” he replies.
I rub my chin. “So the numbers are pretty even,” I think aloud. “We can win. We will win,” I look him dead in the eyes and say.
“No, we won’t win, because we’re staying down here and waiting for them to leave.”
“What?” I ask incredulously.
“They’ll give up and move on, trust me.”
“Didn’t you say Sully and I led them here?”
The President nods.
“So why would they leave if they know we’re down here?” I let the question settle for a moment before I continue. “They will never leave, and they’ll find a way down here. But by then, there’ll be a hundred thousand of them, and we’ll be obliterated for sure.”
President Sullivan’s jaw falls slack.
“The time to act is now,” I push him.
His face pinches to a point, his brows lowering, eclipsing his eyes. “I don’t need advice from a girl.” He spits my gender with disdain. “I am the President of this city. We do as I say.” His tone is filled with sanctimonious outrage.
I lick my teeth and sneer. “You’re a coward,” I hiss.
“A coward, huh?” he snorts and takes a step away, repeating the word several times. Then without warning, he leaps toward the cell, his face so close to mine his breath blows tendrils of my hair away from my face. “Maybe I should have you killed right now,” he growls, his voice low and threatening.
“We’re dead anyway, unless we go up there and fight,” I match his tone and reply. And it’s true. He can kill me now, or the Urthmen will kill me later. Either way, I’ll die. We’ll all die once the Urthmen assemble fully and reach us.
President Sullivan shakes his head and laughs. It’s a brittle, mirthless sound that resonates with hate. “You sound exactly like my son did when I showed him what’s going on up there,” he says and holds my gaze. “Damn fools, both of you,” he says before he turns on his heels and marches away.
Watching him go, I feel a tremor of unease whisper through my body, a tingle of warning. The President will not listen to Sully and he won’t listen to me. He’d rather wait to die down here than amass an army and fight.
“President Sullivan!” I call after him. “President Sullivan, wait! Don’t leave the people of New Washington vulnerable!” My voice is shrill as it echoes through the hollows of wherever I am. “Don’t let them die! You owe them a chance to live! You owe them!”
I scream until my throat is raw, but am answered only by the rhythmic clacking of his boots walking further down the tunnel, further away from me.
When I’m left with nothing but the sound of ringing in my ears from silence so thick it’s smothering, I lower my head into my hands and try to think of a way out.
Chapter 20
The complete absence of noise causes me to notice the intensity of silence. My ears ring with it as it tolls through my body and rattles my brain. But it doesn’t compare to the tightness in my chest. Remorse weighs heavily as it settles there, constricting my lungs with its ironclad grip so that I can barely breathe.
I’ve led the enemy to New Washington, and now my sister, along with every other citizen of the city, will pay the price if we do not unite and rise against them. That will never happen as long as I am locked in this cell.
Swathed in darkness, thick and sinister, despair sinks its tentacles into my spirit. I drop my head into my hands and feel myself slip, succumbing to hopelessness, to desolation. June will die, Riley will die. Every man, woman and child down here will die once the Urthmen reinforcements arrive and they organize their attack. And they will, soon. There isn’t a doubt in my mind about that. The time to stop them is now, before their numbers grow. Unfortunately, I am the only one who’s convinced of this detail; a detail that could save the fate of New Washington.
I close my eyes, the blackness behind my lids as pronounced and impenetrable as the murkiness within my poorly lit cell. The stress I feel, the panic and insurmountable dread, evokes a sensation similar to having my lifeblood drained from my body. I feel the sweeping, lacy prickles of numbness start at my fingertips and creep up my forearms to my shoulders, spreading to my neck and face, to my chest and torso, and then to my legs in paralyzing waves of anxiety until I swear every ounce of my essence has been bled and now pools at my feet.
I collapse onto my side and tuck my knees to my chest. I think of my father, of my mother and the sibling who never took his or her first breath on this planet. I think of June, of the life we had, of the life we thought we could have here. My memories, my hopes and intentions, fall to the gloom.
Beyond my clamped eyelids, the world spins. I try to fight it, attempt to will it to halt, but my efforts are useless. Nothing helps. I’m faced with the realization that I must give up. I’ve fought to keep my sister safe, and to survive, my entire life. And now the fight is over. The General will lead the Urthmen down here and kill us. President Sullivan will do nothing to stop it.
I’m about to surrender to utter despondency when the sound of shouting startles me. Male voices blend with one another. I can’t be certain of how many I hear, just that there are grunts and groans, the sound of a scuffle. I bolt upright, my nerve endings combatting the immobilizing effects of my angst, as the sound of the fray draws closer. Slowly, I stand and make my way to the bars.
My eyes strain to see down the corridor. Anemic, ashy light does little to illuminate the situation.
“Stop right now or I’ll shoot!” a voice rings out, a familiar voice I recognize as belonging to one of the guards.
My mind works frantically. Who’s he threatening? Who’s down here?
My body sputters to life once again. I’m pressed against the metal rods that barricade me inside, my face wedged between two as I peer in the distance. Shadows scrawled across the stone floor merge, bustling with what looks like limbs jutting in every direction. More huffs and grunts follow. I inhale and am about to shout and ask what’s going on, but am silenced by a large shape streaking by in a shadowy blur. A muffled “Argh!” accompanies it followed by a loud thud. Instinctively, I step back until it passes then rush to the farthest corner of my cell once it lands.
My heart has lodged in my throat, hammering there. “What the heck?” The words are a strangled whisper I mutter to myself when I see that the collapsed heap is the guard whose voice I recognized seconds earlier. His eyes are rolled back in his head and he isn’t moving, likely unconscious.
“Hey beautiful.” Sully’s voice echoes behind me and causes me to jump before it raises every hair on my body. I close my eyes, afraid to open them, terrified that I’m dreaming and that he’ll be gone when I open them. “Let’s get you out of there.”
I swallow hard. “Is it really you?”
“In the flesh,” he replies and I can almost hear him smiling.
My heart returns to its rightful place. There’s so much I want to say to him. I want to thank him, to tell him how happy I am to see him, to tell him I worried I’d never see him again and that the thought made me sick in every possible way. But I don’t. There’ll be time enough to express every feeling I have for him. Now isn’t that time. I allow only one question to pass from my swimming mind and slip past my lips. “How’d you do this unarmed?” I ask and gesture to the fallen guard.
His eyes lock on mine. They shine with profound emotion that causes my chest to flutter, and unspoken words pass between us. “I got the big guy with me.” One corner of his mouth tilts upward. He thumbs over his shoulder to where Jericho’s massive form rounds the corner almost timidly.
“Hello, Avery.” Jericho’s voice flows like heated honey. He’s just thrown a man across a room, yet isn’t winded in the least, isn’t gripped by adrenaline or shouting like a madman.
“Hi Jericho,” I match his tone and mirror his shy smile.
“We’ve got to get you out of there.” Sully’s voice snaps me back to the direness of our predicament.
“How? What’re we going
to do? Where will we go?” The questions fire from me in rapid succession.
Without speaking, Sully lunges toward the fallen guard. In one swift motion, he retrieves a ring of keys from a belt cinched at his waist. He then twists one of them into the lock and pulls the bars toward him. Metal creaks, hinges protest, and the cell door opens. I rush out and, without thinking, wrap my arms around Sully’s neck. Pulling him close and embracing him tightly, I feel his heart thundering against my chest. The act is automatic, as natural as breathing. “I’m so happy to see you.” The words fall from me like pieces into place, and my life comes into razor-sharp focus.
He reciprocates the intensity of my hug and whispers into my hair, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
But all too soon, the gravity of the situation returns me to the present. My grip slackens and I step backward. Jericho clears his throat and Sully’s gaze darts from him to me. His fingertips skim the skin of my forearms as he releases me with a gentle squeeze to both of my hands.
“Everyone’s talking about you in GenPop. Small riots are even breaking out,” Sully says.
“Well, they’re talking about Azlyn,” Jericho adds. “That’s what they’re calling you.”
“Azlyn? The girl from the storybook again?” I rub my forehead and ask.
“That’s the one.” Sully nods. “The blonde hair, appearing suddenly, the fearlessness, you’ve got to admit, the similarities are there. To the people of New Washington, you’re Azlyn. You’re here to free them.”
“But they don’t think they need to be freed.” I shrug. “And your father won’t even let them decide anything for themselves.”
“Why would small riots be occurring if they don’t think they deserve freedom?” Jericho’s question gives me pause. I do not have a response.
“Urthmen are here, Avery,” Sully tells me.
“I know. Your father showed me.” I gesture behind myself absently, toward the monitor camouflaged by stone.
The Underground City (Book 3): Planet Urth, no. 3 Page 22