Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel)

by Hinkens, Norma

  It sounds easy in theory, finding Blade, but the truth is I’m no bounty hunter and he’s a seasoned killer. He butchered his way out of the reeducation center, massacring the guards when the power failed during the meltdown. Reds he called the reeducation guards, his tone like ice when he told me how he did them in. I run a hand distractedly across my brow. Tucker bounds back over and looks up at me, somehow picking up on my angst. Doubt is bubbling up inside me again. What am I doing leading a bunch of teenagers to the Rogues’ hideout? What if I can’t persuade them to help us and they turn on us instead? I’m putting the Undergrounders’ lives at risk, all for the slim chance of saving my brother.

  I kick at a rock on the trail. I didn’t choose this; it was put on me. Big Ed would tell me to rise to the challenge, to show the Undergrounders what I’m made of. But I’m not sure they’d want to know. I’m scared down to the soles of my worn-out boots just knowing Blade’s still out there. He promised to make it his mission to eliminate me, and he’ll die making good on that promise.

  I wish Jakob were here. I’ve learned so much from him in the past six years—everything from how to shoot straight and skin a rabbit, to not being afraid to talk about Ma and how much I still miss her. Somehow the world’s less threatening when Jakob’s around. But we didn’t part on the best of terms, and things will never be the same between us now. The bunker spell’s been broken, and I can’t give him what he wants from me. Especially since Sven arrived. Tucker noses my hand and I rub his head distractedly. Big Ed told Sven to keep an eye on me, and he has been, although I suspect the “watching over” part has more to do with “watching” at times. A shiver runs down my back when I remember how it felt to have the clone’s muscular arm around my waist in the storm. With Jakob I feel safe, but there’s nothing safe about how I feel with Sven. He studies me, like he wants to know more than a clone should know about a human. Maybe that’s what makes him seem so dangerous. Uncharted and dangerous, but is it wrong?

  “Ready?” Trout asks, coming up behind me. “I told the others we were going ahead.” He leans down and ruffles Tucker’s neck. “This old boy will find that scumbag for us, won’t you?”

  I flash Trout a grin. “Count on it.”

  “Go get him, Tuck!” I say, giving him a quick pat on the back. He bolts off through the pines, tongue dangling in anticipation. “Not so fast!” I yell. Trout and I break into a run and chase after him. He slows his pace until we’re only lagging a few feet behind him and then takes off again, barking excitedly like it’s a game. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks, and then veers off to the left into the brush. I ready my weapon and signal to Trout to follow me. A few feet off the trail Tucker sniffs meticulously all around a depression in the brush beneath a granite boulder. I lay my hand on the flattened undergrowth. A cold tingle goes down my spine. Someone, or something, bedded down here not too long ago. Trout’s questioning eyes lock with mine.

  “He was just here,” I say, breathlessly. “Might have heard us coming.”

  I grab Tucker by the collar and let him sniff the flattened undergrowth one more time. “Good boy! Now, go find Blade!” I give him a reassuring pat on the back and he takes off again like a rocket through the thickets.

  “Come on!” I yell to Trout, as I leap over a log and chase after Tucker. Adrenalin courses through me. Saplings bend like switches and slap back on me as I plough my way through the dense forest awash with the dim light of dawn. We should be out of reach of the Sweepers’ tubes this deep in the undergrowth, but their extraction capabilities are growing all the time. My sloppy braid comes undone and my hair falls in a tangle over my face. Branches scratch at my cheeks like ragged fingernails, but I ignore the pain and focus on not losing sight of Tucker. If Blade has a gun, he won’t hesitate to use it on him—if only out of spite. His jeering words when Tucker was extracted still haunt me. Must be hard times in the Craniopolis if dog’s on the menu. He always finds some way to get me riled up. I can’t let him get his hands on Tucker.

  Trout yells at me to ease up, but I don’t dare risk falling behind the furry streak up ahead. Several times I yell at Tucker to hold up, but for some disturbing reason he ignores me. I duck to avoid a low-hanging limb and push on for another few minutes, frantically calling out for him every few feet, but he’s disappeared from sight. Heaving for breath, I pull up by a large fir tree.

  I lean over on my thighs and wait for Trout to catch up with me. A moment later he claps a hand on my back and collapses on the ground beside me, gasping. “Where ... did he go?”

  “I lost him.” I straighten up and wipe the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “He just kept going, wouldn’t mind me. I don’t understand it. He never does that.”

  Trout rolls onto his back. “Now what?”

  I shake my head, too winded to talk, too sick to my stomach to imagine now what. I tense my shoulders, half-expecting to hear a shot echo through the forest at any minute. Knowing Blade, he’s got his hands on a weapon by now.

  Trout throws a skittish look around. “We’re a good bit off the trail already. We need to be careful not to lose our way. Do you want to keep going after him?”

  “Of course. Soon as I catch my breath.” I pull out my canteen and unscrew the lid with trembling fingers. I swish a mouthful of water around and peer into the distance. “This isn’t like Tucker. He must have spotted someone.” I can’t bring myself to say Blade’s name.

  Trout chews on his bottom lip. He slides his gaze in my direction. “Then Blade might know we’re coming.”

  “Or worse. He might have Tucker.”

  Trout frowns. “I say we spread out and flank the area. Pinch him off.”

  I get to my feet slowly. “All right, but don’t underestimate Blade,” I say, gripping Trout by the shoulder. Big Ed’s words echo in my ears: Remember, you can hear in all directions. “If he’s out there, you’re not gonna see him before you feel a knife in your neck. You have to listen for him. He could drop from a tree, come up from under the brush—out of anywhere—but I guarantee you won’t see him before he sees you.”

  Trout takes a step back, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “We don’t have to split up if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s a good idea to close him off. It’s our best shot at catching him. I’m just telling you to watch your back.”

  Trout nods, his face drawn.

  I pull my hair out of my face and stuff it down into the collar of my jacket. “I’ll go that way,” I say signaling east. “Cut back around after a half mile or so. If there’s no sign of either Blade or Tucker, we’ll head back toward the trail and see if Tucker’s made his way back to the others.”

  I watch Trout move off, and then turn and arc my way through the brush in the opposite direction. The hush of the forest has become almost unbearable, as if every tree is holding its breath along with me, waiting for Blade to leap out and skewer me with a sharpened spear. I almost jump out of my skin when an eagle screams down from the ridge, sending a nearby squirrel into a panicked spin.

  I take a steadying breath and creep forward, reluctant to move faster than I can process the dark undertones of the forest around me. A thick layer of pinecones crunches underfoot. Even my breathing seems to carry too far into the dawn air, but when I try to hold my breath, I end up gasping. I swing my gun around in a blind panic, certain I’ve given away my position to a loitering Blade. I wait for a few tense minutes before I relax my shoulders and will myself to keep advancing.

  Big Ed taught me all the forest’s secrets—prints, tracks, scat and sounds. I can’t help wondering how he would go about catching Blade.

  Of course he would have studied him. Like he studies everything and everyone. So now, when he needs to, he’d be able to predict Blade’s next move before he even makes it. I rack my brains, trying to remember something useful about Blade, something that makes him weak.

  The leaves rustle to my left. A loud bark. Seven o’clock. The hair on the back of my neck tingles. I spin around
and peer through the greenish hue of the forest. More barking—but not the kind that makes any sense. Tucker would be growling if he’d cornered Blade—snarling if Blade had a hold of him. I glance around to make sure Blade’s not creeping up behind me, and then slide my gun off my shoulder and take off jogging in the direction of the barking. My heart thuds in my chest. Please, let Tucker be all right. I push my way through a clump of pines and out into a small clearing. My jaw drops when I see who has Tucker in a chokehold.

  4

  It’s a child.

  Even with the light of the first rays of dawn spilling over the forest, it takes me a minute or two to convince myself I’m not hallucinating. Squatting in a pile of mulched leaves like some kind of elusive forest creature is a little girl, I think. Filthy, even by Undergrounder standards. I stare at the small figure, swaddled in muddy layers of unidentifiable clothing. Her spindly arms are velcroed around Tucker’s neck, a feisty gleam in her eyes that dares me to claim him. Tucker barks once, then twice, seeking my approval of this new arrangement. I signal to him to stay, still trying to process what I’m seeing. He wags his tail contentedly, then barks again, inviting me to join his circle of newfound love.

  Trout comes running up behind me. “What on earth?”

  “It’s a little girl,” I say, more to convince myself than to tell him anything he can’t see for himself.

  He turns to me, frowning. “Yeah, but where’d she come from?”

  “I don’t know.” I raise my fingers to my mouth to whistle for Tucker, but Trout grabs my arm and lowers it. “Wait! She’s clinging to that dog like her life depends on it. If you whistle him over, she might start screaming.”

  I twist my neck and peer through the trees behind me. Trout’s right. Blade might well be in earshot. The worst thing we can do right now is trigger an outburst that will draw unwanted attention to our whereabouts.

  I turn back around and take a closer look. I haven’t seen a child this young since before the meltdown. The young and the old fared worst in the aftermath. I’m guessing she might be five or six, but I’m useless at this kind of stuff. And she’s so tiny.

  “So what do I do?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth to Trout. “I can’t let her keep Tucker.”

  Trout throws me an exasperated look. “Point is, what are we gonna do with her?”

  “I dunno, find her parents. She’s too young to have survived out here by herself. She must be with someone—Undergrounders, I suppose.”

  “There aren’t any bunkers around here, only the Council’s base.”

  “Maybe they were passing through.”

  Trout throws me a skeptical look. “And left their kid behind?”

  I stare at the disheveled girl for a moment, and then take a tentative step in her direction. She tenses, huddling in on herself. Tucker pricks his ears, watching our every move. “It’s okay,” I call out, offering a friendly wave. “We’re Undergrounders like you. We won’t hurt you.” I take a couple more steps, treading as lightly as I can.

  She tightens her grip on Tucker and scuttles backward. He licks her chin, and then turns back to me. I motion to him to stay put.

  “Are you hungry?” Trout calls out. He pulls out a piece of jerky and holds it up.

  The young girl’s eyes widen.

  Trout approaches her slowly and offers it to her. Cautiously, she uncoils one arm from around Tucker’s neck, her eyes fixed on the prize. Fast as a bird of prey, she thrusts out her hand and snatches the jerky from Trout’s open palm. My heart melts when she tears it in half and gives a piece to Tucker first. She keeps a wary eye on Trout as she polishes off her share, but she seems to have forgotten that I’m here. Ever so slowly, I approach.

  Her face is smeared with dirt streaked through with tears. A flicker of panic goes through me. If she is lost, and we can’t find her parents, what are we going to do with her? She wipes a tiny fist across her lips, then holds out her hand to Trout for more jerky, never loosening her one-armed grip on Tucker.

  “Are you lost?” I ask, kneeling down on a bed of pine needles a few feet in front of her.

  Her bottom lip trembles.

  I cringe inwardly. Please don’t cry! “I’m Derry,” I say, stretching a clown-sized smile across my face. “What’s your name?”

  She clings to Tucker’s fur, peering suspiciously over my shoulder into the brush.

  I turn and make a dismissive gesture behind me. “Don’t worry. It’s just me and my friend, Trout.”

  The girl eyes Trout curiously for a moment. Her small lips part. “That’s a fish’s name.”

  I laugh. “What’s your name?”

  “Izzy.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” I rack my brains trying to remember what people say to little kids. Seems a lifetime ago since I’ve been around any. I was a kid myself when the meltdown happened. I shoot Trout an imploring look.

  “Say something,” I hiss in his ear.

  He scratches the back of his neck, as perplexed as I am. Apparently he has nothing more up his sleeve either, now that he’s out of jerky.

  I roll my eyes at him and turn my attention back to my grubby rival laying claim to Tucker. I need to figure out how to get my dog back, but of course I can’t just take him and leave her. I blink back unexpected tears. I swore I’d never leave anyone behind again, and I meant it.

  I shuffle a little closer on my knees and smile gently at her. “Where’s your mom and dad?”

  She throws me a jaded look and nestles her head in the crook of Tucker’s neck.

  I chew on my lip. Not a safe topic? Or did she clam up because I’m a stranger? Maybe the dog’s a better option to open with.

  “Looks like you found yourself a real pal there,” I say, reaching out to pet Tucker.

  Izzy lets out a strangled wail and locks both arms around his neck again.

  I retreat a few feet and turn to Trout, one eyebrow hiked. “Your turn.”

  He clears his throat and throws Izzy a conspiratorial look. “His name’s Tucker.”

  She juts out her tiny chin. “I found him.”

  I groan inwardly. I’m resigning myself to having to pry her needle-thin arms from around Tucker’s neck. Already the guilt’s gnawing at me. I know how comforting a place it is to be snuggled up to an unconditional-love fur ball.

  Of all people to have Tucker in a chokehold, why does it have to be an abandoned kid? This could prove more challenging than negotiating with Rummy, but Tucker’s not on the table, not even for her. I rub my jaw distractedly until inspiration strikes. “Hey, Izzy, I have an idea. Let’s take Tucker to meet your parents.”

  She blinks, as if considering my proposition.

  “How about it?” I prod. “They’d love to meet your new pal.”

  She drops her gaze, trails her fingers through the half-mulched leaves and pats them into a small mound. “They’re dead.”

  I rock back on my heels, momentarily stunned by her wooden delivery of the shocking words. I stare at the mulch sculpture at her feet that looks disturbingly like a grave. Maybe her way of trying to process what happened. A thousand questions swirl in my brain. Did her parents die in a bunker raid? Was it Rogues, or did the Sweepers extract them? The question that nags at me most is the same one I see on Trout’s bewildered face. What are we going to do with her? We can’t take her with us. Not to war. But we can’t leave her alone out here either, and especially not with Blade on the prowl.

  I inhale slowly in and out. I don’t want her to clam up again, but I need to make sure of the facts. We can’t go kidnapping some Undergrounder’s kid with an overactive imagination. I slowly stretch out my hand to Tucker, and this time Izzy sits quietly, watching with unabashed curiosity as Tucker licks my fingers affectionately. An involuntary smile curls up from the corners of her mouth. I take a quick breath and seize the moment. “What happened to your mom and dad?”

  A look of grim determination clouds her face. She twists a piece of Tucker’s fur between her fingers. “T
here’s bad guys.”

  My heart begins to pound with a kindred fear. “I know. Did you see them?”

  She bobs her head, once, twice for confirmation.

  “What did they look like?”

  She pulls her skinny shoulders up to her chin and drops them.

  “So you didn’t see them then?”

  “They had scary faces.” She blinks, a solemn look on her face. “Is Trout’s mama dead?”

  Behind me, I hear Trout inhale a sharp breath, then clear his throat. I fight the urge to turn around and look at him. He hasn’t shared anything about his family with me, and I haven’t asked. It’s an unspoken rule among the Undergrounders not to pry. Not everyone wants to talk about what happened to their loved ones when the earth’s core overheated and obliterated most of the world’s population.

  I haven’t thought about the day of the meltdown in a long time. Owen and I had our poles in the water early, shivering in the cool, morning air. I caught a clunker of a Steelhead early on and Owen took my picture.

  We never got to skin that fish. All that smoke and fire coming up from the base of the Sawtooth mountains, hot springs exploding, the thick choking ash, the dark lockdown that began that day and never really ended.

  Izzy cocks her head to one side and studies me like a wren with beady eyes. “Is your Mama dead?”

  I get to my feet and hold out my hand to her. If she can face the truth, maybe it’s time we all did. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I think so.”

  A rustling sound in the brush beyond the clearing startles us. Izzy’s alert, brown eyes widen. She grabs onto my hand and clamps down on it. I swing her up onto my back and aim my rifle at the quivering undergrowth. Out of the corner of my eye I see Trout silently draw his gun.