by Jenny Moyer
Two more drop, and our backs brush as we move into a defensive position. I thrust my knife at the nearest bat. Miss.
It careens toward me again, and I lash out, skewering it through the belly. Wings flap wildly, and I tighten my grip as the bat pulls me forward a step. It makes a clicking sound with its teeth as it gnaws at my blade. I shove my boot over the creature and drive another knife through its head, staring up at the remaining bats above us.
Dram works his blade free from a carcass. “I don’t think any more will—”
Another bat dives. I lurch back, but it tangles in my hair, thrashing, twisting, and flapping its wings.
“Dram!” I cry out as its claws scratch my face. I reach for it—
“No, Rye!”
Two rows of teeth clamp down on my forearm, and I scream as they penetrate the layers of my suit. The thing must be a baby, because my arm isn’t broken, but burning pain radiates through my veins. Venom. Only the females are venomous.
Dram has his hands in my hair. He’s wrestling the flash bat while I concentrate on not passing out. A second later, I hear a thunk and a crunch. He cuts the creature out of my snarled hair and lowers my arm in front of me. I steal a glance at the bat’s cloudy blank eyes, faintly glowing still. Its mouth grips my arm like a vise.
“Lean into me,” Dram says. “I’m going to pry its jaw open.”
I sway against him and force myself to just keep standing. He cuts part of my sleeve away. I feel his blade, cool against my forearm.
“Ready?” he asks. He levers his knife, and the bat’s jaw lifts. His arms shake as he forces it wide enough for me to pull my arm free. I shut my eyes against the sight of my streaming blood and sink to the ground, dimly aware of the bat bodies nearby. The pain eclipses everything. Dram kneels beside me where I quiver on the floor, moaning.
He draws my arm across his knees. I know what’s coming, and I shake, knowing it hurts as much as the initial bite. Dram meets my eyes, but then seems to decide against whatever he was going to say. Nothing he could say will make this next part any easier.
He presses his lips to the wound and sucks. A fractured cry bursts from my mouth. Dram hands me a piece of rope, and I bite down as he continues to draw the venom from my arm. He spits blood and green poison on the ground beside us, over and over, until my voice is hoarse and my cries have dissolved into a whimper.
“It was shallow,” he says, wiping his mouth. His voice sounds strained, like he’s been yelling along with me. “Come on.” He grips my arm and hauls me to my feet. “Let’s find some water posey.”
I stumble along behind him, trying to shut out the pain.
As much as it hurts, it doesn’t warrant Serum 129. There are too many perils down here to risk dulling my senses. We are too deep. I need to be able to climb hard and fast—impossible with shock inhibitors buzzing through my system.
“I hear water—” I point to the left, still too hoarse to speak.
Dram lets go of my hand to use his palm lights, and I stare down at the place where his hand was, trying to understand the sense of loss. When did his touch become so important to me?
“Stay with me,” Dram says, cupping my cheek in his gloved hand. “We’ll find some posey for the pain. Hang in there.”
We pass an outcrop of stone, and blue light fills a cavern, glowing up from a massive pool. Blue is not an orbie color. This water is safe. Dram jogs toward it and reaches into the water for the plants growing up toward the surface.
“Found some,” he calls. He’s not wearing his mouthpiece, but the cavern carries his voice. I sag against the wall. It will be bearable soon.
Dram cuts a frond of water posey, a plant that soothes skin and numbs pain. He slips his knife through the middle of the leaf, dividing it into two glistening green halves. Gently, he lifts my arm and draws back the torn sleeve. A ring of bruises surround the bite wound, from the force of his mouth pulling the poison out.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the purple marks.
“Wasn’t your fault,” I say, watching as he wraps the leaves over my forearm. “It’s not like that bite is from your overly long teeth.”
“I was just following orders,” he murmurs, binding the wrap with gauze. “You were the one who led us past that tunnel.”
I look up with surprise. “It was your light gun that drew them.”
He raises a brow. “You’re the one who ordered the marker.”
“That’s my job!” He bites his lip, and suddenly I see what’s going on. “You’re arguing with me on purpose to distract me from the pain.”
“Maybe.” He ties off the bandage and pulls my sleeve back into place.
“Oh no.” The cavern is spinning, so I close my eyes. I can still picture the vibrant blue pool.
“Do you think the sky is as bright as that?” I murmur.
“We’ll find out,” Dram says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
My heart stills. Maybe the venom reached it after all. His touch tingles down through every nerve ending. It pulses behind my sternum, like a secret.
“Posey-wosey,” I mumble. “Posey making me woozy.” It takes all my concentration to speak.
He grins. “We might as well rest a bit.”
“Wait.” The posey works fast. My mind seems to be heading up the tunnel without the rest of my body. “The venom burned your lips.” I run my finger inside the posey leaf and touch it to Dram’s mouth. He holds still as I smooth the juice along his bottom lip. He’s not wearing his goggles, and his blue eyes glow like the pool behind him.
“Rye,” he whispers. He reaches to take over the job himself, but I shake my head.
“Let me.” I spread posey extract along his top lip and feel his breath against my hand. It’s as unsteady as mine.
“You need to sleep it off.” He guides my hands back to my sides and unpacks a thin metallic blanket from his pouch, then he leans against the cavern wall and slides down.
I drop down beside him. He helps me unfold my blanket, and we huddle side by side, wrapped in the synthetic warmth. The sound of the water trickling into the pool lulls me until my eyelids feel as heavy as my axe. My head tips back and finds its way to his shoulder. The fabric of his suit rubs my scratched cheek, and I hiss with pain.
“Here…” Dram draws me across his lap and cradles me in his arms.
It’s like I’m floating again, far above my body, a kite with no strings. I wonder how much of it is the posey and how much has to do with Dram’s closeness. I savor the feel of his arms around me, of being held so close to his chest that I feel each one of his breaths.
“Sleep.” His voice sounds gruff.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I murmur. “Barely surviving nine.”
“We’re not out yet. We could still die in a variety of ways.”
I smile. We are morbid, the cavers of Outpost Five. But my smile fades as the reality of my life sinks in. Tears prick the back of my eyes.
“I want to live in a place where … don’t have to cut … flash bats … out of my hair.”
“Shhh, just sleep.” He threads his fingers through my tangled blond strands, as if he’s replacing the memory with something new. Something good. His voice rumbles against my ear where it presses against his chest, so I close my eyes and let myself drift.
Dram pulls me closer, lowering his head until his lips are beside my ear. “I won’t leave you. I won’t let anything steal you away.”
I am just far enough gone with posey to believe him.
EIGHT
315.82 grams cirium
THEY ARE WAITING for us when we emerge.
I’ve never seen so many guards assembled at one time. The commissary stands at their apex, his gaze fixed on something above us.
Someone repaired the sign. It hangs in place above the tunnels, like my act of defiance never happened. WE ARE THE FORTUNATE ONES.
I want to take my axe to it all over again. Instead, I cradle my injured arm against
my chest and force myself to think of words like consequences.
Cranny stares at me. His eyes slip down my hair, a mess of tangles streaming from beneath my skullcap, to the knives strapped onto my arms, the harness that buckles across my suit, down to my boots. Dram takes a half step closer to me.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Cranny says. “I’ve summoned the cavers for an announcement in the Rig.” His words fill me with panic—more than I felt when the bat caught in my hair. He smiles, just at me, and my breath freezes in my chest.
“Let’s go,” Dram murmurs. He stares at Cranny, too. But he isn’t smiling back. He looks like he wants to see what his axe would do to Cranny’s body.
We follow the other cavers into the crowded house. Benches fill half the room, most of them full. Cavers still wear their suits. Some hold bandages to bloody injuries. Cranny is in a hurry to give us this news, whatever it is.
He strides to the front of the room. Jameson follows like a shadow.
“The food that fills your bellies,” he says, scanning the faces of the cavers. “Who provides it?”
“What’s a full belly?” I mutter. Dram kicks my foot.
The cavers remain silent except for a few coughs of those still clearing their lungs of particle dust.
“I will ask you again,” Cranny says. “Who gives you food?”
“The Congress,” a man says.
“And the clothes you wear?”
“Congress.” A few others join in.
“What about your homes? Your serums? Your light and warmth? The only thing standing between you and the flash curtain is this outpost.”
A tense silence fills the Rig.
“Your lead ore scout raised her axe in anger, lashing out at the government that protects us. She doesn’t consider Subpars at Outpost Five fortunate. But then, she’s never set foot in a cordon.”
The word hangs in the air. Cordon. I feel it like a draft on my neck.
A few cavers glance at me, some angry, most with pity in their eyes. They know Cranny will make an example of me.
“Do you feel her actions should go unpunished?”
Dram slowly draws his axe from its holster.
“Not one of you stopped her,” Cranny says, letting the implication hang in the air. The cavers look at each other, and I see mostly alarm. This isn’t just about me anymore.
Cranny watches us with a look of satisfaction, apparently pleased we’re all finally catching on. “You will all share in the consequences of her actions.”
Beside me, Dram tenses. I can’t breathe.
“Tomorrow you will all descend tunnel nine, and she will guide you to the new vein of ore. The three cavers who mine the least will be sent to the burnt sands of Cordon Four.”
Silence descends over the crowd—except for me. I’m making a sound like another flash bat just clamped onto my arm.
I lurch to my feet. “Director.” Cranny’s dark eyes fasten on me. “I was the one who damaged the sign.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I take full responsibility. Please don’t make anyone else suffer for what I did.”
“Since the cavers are so eager to follow you,” Cranny says, “you will guide them down nine.”
My stomach drops. I think of Gabe with his non-hands, Ennis, who is the oldest of us, and—my gaze shoots to the little girl—Winn. She probably has no idea what Cranny’s talking about. She doesn’t know she will be sent to her death. She can’t swing hard enough to mine the dense walls of the deepest tunnel. And if nine doesn’t take her, the sands will.
“Give us time to form another team,” I say. “Dram and I will bring up the cirium.”
“Her last team was attacked by tunnel gulls!” a man shouts.
“That wasn’t her fault!” Dram twists in his seat.
“This is outrageous!” Blaine Cresley jumps to his feet. “I’ve done nothing.” He tosses a look in my direction, like I’m an orbie he found on his arm. “You can’t force me down nine—every caver you’ve sent with them has died!”
Cranny’s hard gaze gleams like obsidian. I want to yell for Blaine to stop, to shut his mouth now, before—
Cranny nods to the guards at the back of the room. Two of them stride forward and grab Blaine under the arms.
“What are you doing?” he cries. The crowd parts as the guards drag him toward the door.
“Tunnel nine,” Cranny says curtly. “Minimum descent of four hundred meters.”
“No!” Blaine cries. “I haven’t charged my lights, I don’t have any rations—”
“You’re going to get acquainted with tunnel nine,” Cranny says, his eyes alight. “Maybe then you won’t be so scared come the morning.”
I realize my hand is wrapped around Dram’s. I’ve never seen him so angry, but he’s not afraid. He grips the bench so hard with his free hand that I see the whites of his knuckles.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Keeping myself out of an impossible fight.”
I hold his hand tighter and wonder if I have the strength to hold him back.
Or if, perhaps, this is a fight I’ve already pulled him into.
* * *
My father sends the summons in the dead of night. It passes secretly from house to house, until every caver slips through our door, silent and undetected. Even little Winn arrives in the care of Dram and Lenore.
No one speaks, except my father who explains, in a hushed undertone, the plan we’ve devised. Cranny’s plan is flawed, and we intend to exploit it so no one has to die.
“If you agree to this,” he says softly, “every caver will have the same amount of ore. There won’t be three lowest-producing cavers to send to the sands.”
“You’re assuming we’re going to survive the tunnel in the first place,” Roland murmurs.
“Yes, I am,” Dad says. “Dram and Orion will each lead a team. Anyone injured or older, anyone who can’t fit through the neck of nine, will go an alternate path with Dram.”
“If there’s an easier path, why don’t we all go that way?” Gabe asks.
“It’s not easier,” I say. “Just more accessible.”
“It’s riskier,” Dram says. “Orion and I have marked gull nests along that path.”
They stare at him blankly, and I realize that most have no idea what a tunnel gull is. I put my hand on Dram’s arm before he can explain. It’s probably best they don’t know.
“There’s nothing we can do about the transmitters in your suits,” I say, “but on your way to the tunnels tomorrow, dust your suits with the cinders from the fire pits. It will give you better camouflage and help cover your scent.”
“From what?” Winn asks.
The cavers remain silent. They’ve seen enough of my and Dram’s injuries to have a fair idea of some of nine’s predators.
“Don’t worry,” Lenore whispers. She squeezes Winn’s hand. “Just stay close to me.”
“The ore is fifteen meters off the ground,” I say. “The best climbers among us will be belayed by a ground team. The rest will collect the ore and deflect the water from the climbers.”
“The water?” Owen asks. “What kind of water?”
“The water that flows down the stone,” Dram answers. “It’s filled with orbies.”
Owen curses.
“Why don’t we just devise something to kill them?” Roland asks.
“Anything strong enough to destroy the orbies would harm you,” Dad says. “Dram and Orion will bear the brunt of the danger. I’ve coated their suits with tar to give them another layer of protection.”
“The rest of you need to wear two pairs of gloves,” I add. “You’ll use your flash blankets like splash guards.”
“We’re out of time,” Graham whispers, glancing out the window. “Guards will be making the rounds any moment now.” His eyes narrow. “Here comes Ennis, with the boy from the lodge…” He breaks off as the two slip through the door. Even in the sparse light, I can see their faces are pale.
/> “What’s happened?” Dad asks.
“Roran and I passed the tunnels on the way here.” Ennis glances at the boy. “The guards were dragging Blaine’s body from nine. Gulls got him.”
I shut my eyes, picturing it all too clearly. Foolish man probably had every light on his suit lit up. And his transmitter, calling to the birds like a dinner bell.
Winn starts to cry. Roran walks over and sits beside her. Something in my heart twists.
“No lights on your suits tomorrow,” I say softly. “Speak only when necessary. You’ll usually hear the danger before you see it.” The cavers nod. A few stare, wide-eyed—mostly tunnel one’s team. Roran’s eyes focus on me like my words are the key to his survival and he intends to live. He holds a rock in his hands that he flips over and over. “Conserve your air,” I continue. “You’re going deeper than you ever have before.”
“Keep your knife close and be ready to use it,” Dram adds. “Don’t hesitate. Kill anything that gets close.” Cavers from one are shaking their heads. They’ve never used their knives on anything but climbing line. Roran’s gaze settles on Dram. There’s no fear in his expression—about killing or things getting close down the tunnel. He seems … resolved, and I can’t imagine what in Alara prepared him for this. Winn’s small shoulders shake, and without even looking at her, he leans closer.
“Subpars are really good at caving, Winn,” I say, wishing there was some way I could spare her this. “We do it every day. Just stay close to Lenore.” I can’t tell her stay close to me. I will be where the danger is worst. “Never go past a red light.”
She nods.
I search the crowd of cavers. “Where’s Reeves?”
“Here.”
“I need you to go with Dram’s team. He’s marked gull nests along that route.” Reeves survived four, facing down the creatures in utter darkness and, if the rumors are true, ate what he killed. As a former lead ore scout, his senses are tuned to his surroundings like mine, and he’s the best defense Dram’s team has.
“Ennis?”