I sigh and straighten up. “I had to show him who’s in charge.”
Trout scratches his head. “The only thing you did was press the ‘kill’ switch in that guerilla’s brain. He’ll eat his way through metal bars to get to you if he has to.”
I raise my brows. “Don’t think I don’t know it.”
“Special delivery,” Sven announces, escorting Rummy by the elbow into the room. He shoves him into a chair and then leans back against the wall.
Rummy leans back and stretches out his legs. “So what’s this secret meeting all ’bout?”
“I need you to draw me a map of the reeducation center,” I say. “Approximate dimensions, locations of doors and gates, that type of thing.”
“Anything that can help us access the center at night,” Trout adds.
Rummy pushes up an unruly brow. He scratches the tip of his nose with the back of his bound hands. “Youse kids lookin’ for some gym equipment to play on or something?”
Sven flexes a menacing fist and raises his brows at me questioningly, but I shake my head.
I get up and walk over to Rummy. “We don’t get to be kids, moron. We’re the apocalypse generation, remember?”
His expression darkens. “Don’t go crying to me about your lost childhood. The world weren’t no better before it blew its top than it is now.”
I fold my arms in front of me. “Maybe you didn’t get a good look at what they’re doing in the Craniopolis—carving people up, harvesting their organs, stripping DNA for cloning research.”
Rummy narrows his eyes at me. “Nothin’ I ain’t seen before. People got carved up real good in the centers too.”
“How’d you end up in one anyway?” Trout asks.
Rummy eyes him appraisingly. “Came from the pit, that’s how.”
Trout and I exchange a knowing look. The pit was the nickname given to the violent slums that sprang up in Shoshane City when people began to chafe against the mounting restrictions imposed by the world government. For the most part, the pit policed itself, but every so often the government would send in troops to clean it out.
“What was it like?” I ask. “Living there.”
Rummy pulls down his bottom lip. “You live and die in dog years, don’t you? Gotta be on your grind if you wanna stay alive.”
“What about your family?” I ask.
Rummy lets out a snort. “Me and Blade lived with our trollop mother. We learned early on we wasn’t wanted but we never had no place to go. ‘Cept the streets. Weren’t so bad. You get numb to sleeping to the sound of sirens.”
“Why’d they send you to the reeducation center?” I ask.
“Some cat from the Slicers thought I was flashing gang signs at him. He pulled a gun and I popped him in the chest. You can be gone real quick if you don’t make the first move in the pit.” Rummy frowns, as if considering the significance of his words. “The Slicers turned me over to a government patrol.”
“Sounds like a stupid way to live,” I say. “Fighting over hand signals.”
Rummy curls his lip. “Weren’t no stupider than any other war.”
I lean forward. “What we’re fighting for now isn’t stupid. It’s a chance for a do over, if you want to play a part in it. But we need better weapons to succeed. We can’t take on the Schutz Clones with only the riders’ rifles.”
Rummy looks at me sideways as if contemplating what the “do over” part could mean for him. After a minute he gestures with his bound hands. “Gimme me somethin’ to write on.”
I yank open a couple of desk drawers and rummage around until I find a book. I flip to the back and rip out a blank sheet, then grab a pen.
Rummy holds out his hands, and I pull out my knife and cut him loose. He takes the pen from me and begins to sketch. I walk around and peer over his shoulder as he details out the reeducation center, meticulously labeling each room, noting every door, window and exit. He jabs a grimy fingernail at a heavily outlined square. “Right ’bout here’s the weapons strong room—bulletproof glass window all the way around. You’ll know it when you see it.” He thrusts the sheet at me and leans back, rubbing his wrists.
I flatten the sheet out on the desk to study it. The drawing itself is surprisingly well done, but the spelling is bad enough to be virtually useless. I go over each label with Rummy and make a mental note of where everything is. I’ll fix the map later. I’m not about to humiliate him now that he’s finally making himself useful. I might need some more information.
“We’re done for now,” I say, folding the map up and putting it in my jacket. “But if I find out you were lying about any—”
A shout of alarm rings out from down the hall. Sven instantly bolts from the room.
“Go!” Trout yells to me, waving his gun. “I got Rummy covered.”
I sprint out of the room and race down the corridor after Sven to the holding cell. The blood in my veins ices over when I see what’s inside.
17
Won lies crumpled on the cell floor like a discarded chew toy, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, a look of horror smeared across his ashen lips.
On the far side of the cell, Blade holds Sook in a headlock, a malevolent grin on his inked face. A surge of clammy fear goes through me.
Blackbeard waves his rifle in Blade’s direction, his face slick with sweat. “He keeled over clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack. I stepped out to holler down the hallway for you. Lowlife must have pounced like a cat and choked him.”
I grip the bars of the holding cell and snatch a shallow breath as I take a closer look at Won’s crumpled body.
“He look dead enough to you?” Blade’s eyes flicker into narrow slits. “Maybe you oughta make sure. Seeing how dead wrong you was about your brother.”
I will myself not to react. “Open the door,” I say to Blackbeard.
He reaches into his pocket without taking his eyes off Blade. “Are you sure about—”
“I’m sure!” I snatch the key from Blackbeard’s hands and ram it into the padlock. “Won might still be alive.”
Sven lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Let me get him.”
I wiggle the key hard from side to side, my fingers shaking with rage. He’s afraid I’ll do something stupid like lunge at Blade, and given the frame of mind I’m in, I might. But the rational side of me knows that would almost certainly leave Sook dead too, which doesn’t help anyone. The lock pops open and I reluctantly step aside for Sven. “Stay back,” I warn Blade.
He hikes his lip up in a sneer, which dissolves when Sven ducks into the cell. Blade darts a glance over the clone’s hulking frame, then shoves Won’s body toward the door with his steel-toed boot, before retreating to the back of the cell with Sook. “’Bout time you got that sucker outta here anyway,” he says. “Stank the place up a storm ’fore he went and croaked. Ain’t no better now.”
Sven reaches down and swoops up Won’s limp body. When he exits the cell, I slam the door shut and padlock it. Sven lays Won down on a rickety table and searches for a pulse. After a moment he straightens up and sighs. “He’s gone,” he says, closing Won’s eyes. I take a shaky breath. I never did much like the man, but his death is a grim reminder of Blade’s needless brutality. A foreboding feeling creeps over me. There’s no telling what the impending trek to the Rogues’ hideout might bring about if The Ghost is anything like him.
I turn my attention back to Blade. “You just killed a man in cold blood, someone who was a valuable asset to our mission.”
He grins. “Lucky you still got me then.” He jerks on Sook’s neck. “And this worthless piece o’ lab trash.” I suck a cold breath between my teeth. He has no idea how valuable Sook could prove to be.
Sook is sweating profusely, his dark eyes zig-zagging left to right as he tries not to move under the crushing pressure of Blade’s forearm. He looks even younger than before—smashed up against the Rogue’s six-foot muscled build. As hard as I try to dislike him for who his fa
ther is, it’s mostly pity I feel right now. I level my gaze at Blade. “Let him go.”
Blade pulls a menacing streak of a grin across his stenciled face. “I’m calling the shots now. Open the gate, or Ching-chong here dies like the Doc.”
I steal a glance in Sven’s direction. He raises his brows and I mouth to him to fetch Rummy. If I can’t reason with Blade, maybe his brother can. There’s no way I’m letting Blade out of here, but if I let Sook die, the Undergrounders and riders will almost certainly abandon the mission.
Sven gives a quick nod of acknowledgement and disappears down the hallway. Blackbeard keeps his rifle trained on Blade, but it’s little comfort knowing Blade would have Sook’s neck snapped before he could pull the trigger.
“Your clone can’t help you now.” Blade’s eyelids slip to half-mast. “Chicken neck here is getting real uncomfortable. What’s it gonna be?”
“I’m not going to let you walk free just to save a lousy Sweeper’s life,” I reply with as much swagger as I can muster.
Blade clenches his jaw. “This here ain’t no ordinary Sweeper, and you know it.”
My heart sinks. He does know who Sook is. Won must have told him. I wonder what else he was forced to spill before he died.
Before I can open my mouth to reply, Sven reappears in the doorway with Trout and Rummy.
Rummy narrows his dark brows, tattoos writhing across his forehead as he surveys the scene. I can almost see the calculations going on inside his shaved head. His murky eyes skim over Blackbeard’s rifle and come to rest on me.
“Need me to clean up your little mess, or what?” he says.
“You do still owe me,” I say. “So tell your brother to let Sook go. We need him alive. You know that as well as I do.”
Rummy tightens his lips. For a moment I think he’s going to renege on agreeing to help us and side with Blade, but then he jerks his chin in the direction of the door. “Wait outside. Me and him’ll talk alone.”
I signal to Blackbeard and the others to retreat to the doorway. Rummy tramps across to the holding cell and grabs onto the bars. I watch, heart pounding, as Blade drags Sook across the floor and the two Rogues lean their heads in close.
Rummy does most of the talking, his voice low and insistent, repeatedly slamming his fists on the metal bars. Blade glances in my direction more than once, a thunderous look on his face.
Minutes go by and acid creeps slowly up my throat. What if Rummy can’t persuade Blade to back down? Without Sook as leverage, we’ll have to rely entirely on force against a sophisticated army of clones bred for the sole purpose of annihilating us.
Blackbeard fidgets with his gun. Sven and Trout keep their eyes glued on the Rogues, ready to spring into action if either one of them makes a move.
After what feels like an eternity, Rummy lets go of the bars and steps back from the holding cell, a disgruntled look on his face. I hold my breath, half-expecting to hear the sound of Sook’s neck being snapped. Instead, Blade spews a mouthful of profanities and shoves Sook to the floor. He turns and glares in my direction, his face taut with fury.
“You’re outta your mind if you think keeping Ching-chong alive will do you any good. Them Sweepers don’t give a dang ’bout nothing, not even their own bloodsuckin’ kind.”
“Get Sook out of there right away,” I say to Sven. “Blackbeard will cover you. And lock Rummy back up inside with Blade. Tie their wrists behind their backs this time. Jerome has some plastic ties in his office.” I lower my voice. “With any luck they’ll do us a favor and take each other out.”
I step outside the room and sink back against the dusty corridor wall, my heart tripping like a jumping bean. Whatever Rummy said to Blade, it worked. For now, at least our most valuable bargaining chip is intact. I only hope this means Rummy is serious about throwing his weight behind the mission to eliminate the Sweepers.
I straighten up when Sven appears at my side with a visibly shaken Sook. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“Bring him with you to the barn,” I say. “I’m putting you in charge of keeping him alive. Trout and I need to catch a couple of hours sleep before we leave.”
Back at the riders’ barn, I tumble into an empty bunk and pull a threadbare blanket wearily over my head.
It seems like only seconds later Trout is yelling in my ear and shaking me awake. I rub my eyes sleepily and sit up on one elbow, trying to make sense of time and space. “We can’t be leaving already?”
Trout grins. “You’ve been asleep for three hours.”
I blink, my bewildered brain playing catch-up. “Where’s Jakob?”
Trout gestures over his shoulder. “Helping Jody ready the horses.”
I yawn and stumble out of bed, my limbs still infused with sleep. I pull on my boots, reach for my wind-up clock, and throw it in my pack, along with an extra jacket.
Trout thrusts a mug of steaming tea at me. “We’re five minutes out. I’ll meet you out back.”
I slurp the tea gratefully. My body aches all over, partly from fatigue, partly in dread of another bone-shaking horseback ride. I swish a mouthful of the hot liquid around to kick my brain into gear. Fear of the unknown swirls in my belly. Best case scenario we score a stash of weapons at the reeducation center. But there’s also a host of disconcerting scenarios that come to mind, ranging from being mauled to death by a pack of wolves along the way, to being extracted.
I finish my tea and make my way out to the stables. Jakob looks up from a saddle bag and hurries over to me. “Trout told me what happened at the courthouse,” he says, wrapping me in a bear hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“It was a close call with Sook,” I reply, squirming. “Rummy came through for us though.”
“It means nothing, just remember that,” Jakob says, releasing me. “The Rogues don’t operate out of principle. They do whatever’s best for themselves in the moment.” A strained expression comes over his face. “I have a hunch Rummy’s hiding something from us about The Ghost.”
“He drew us a map of the reeducation center, didn’t he?” I say. “He’s trying to help.”
“Mount up,” Jody calls to everyone. She brings Condor alongside us, and Jakob gives me a hand up. I push aside the disconcerting thought that Rummy might be planning to double cross us once we reach the wilderness. Why would he help us secure the weapons if he knew we’d end up using them against him?
The mood is somber as we exit the barn and pick our way through the ravaged lot to the street. Minutes later, we’re underway. The horses weave seamlessly out of the city and through the rough landscape of boulders and debris beyond the barricade. Before long, we’re galloping south, the cold night air blasting our faces. A pitted silver moon ogles us from above. The horses seem undaunted by the poor visibility from the perforated night sky. I sway precariously back and forth, my heart racing erratically. The only saving grace is that it’s too dark out to see every obstacle coming at me. And too dark to be seen.
“Can Condor even tell where he’s going?” I yell over Jody’s shoulder.
“Relax! He’s got great night vision.”
I tighten my grip around her waist. It’s impossible to relax when I’m entrusting my life to a four-legged speed demon, but right now there’s nothing else for it. I hope we don’t become separated from the others. Last I saw Trout, he was out in front with Ida, and Jakob a few feet behind on one of the pack horses. Fearing for his life no doubt. The sound of pounding hooves remains consistent so I take it as a sign the others are somewhere close by.
It’s shortly after one in the morning when we spot the reeducation center up ahead. We come to a standstill in a copse of trees, and slide down from the horses’ backs. I pull out my flashlight and scan our route.
From our vantage point, the double perimeter fence looks intact, the razor wire coiled like a spring ready to flay the skin from anyone who tries to breach it. Rummy told me the Rogues used bolt cutters to bust through a section on the east side of
the center, so that will be the first test of how much use his map will ultimately prove to be.
“Wait here with Ida for us,” I say to Jody, grabbing the duffle bags we brought for the weapons. “If we’re not back in two hours, it means something’s happened, so leave without us. No exceptions. We don’t all have to end up captured or dead.”
Jody finishes tying the pack horses to a tree and tips her hat at me. I hope she knows I’m serious. I don’t want the riders risking their lives for us any more than they already have.
“Let’s go,” Jakob says, swinging the pack he brought for the medication over his shoulder. Trout gestures to me to lead the way. I edge forward, following the line of the perimeter fence about twenty feet out. I pad as silently as possible, but my heart beats violently in my chest. Every so often I peer over my shoulder to make sure Jakob and Trout haven’t vanished.
Just when I’ve decided Rummy was lying to me after all, I spot the mangled section of fence. I take a quick breath. Hopefully it’s a sign none of the escaped subversives are using the center as a base. The first thing they would have done would have been to seal up this escape route. I gesture to Jakob and Trout to follow me, and then step gingerly through. I eye the shadowy low-lying concrete building up ahead, then throw another quick glance around, before breaking into a jog. I check my pocket for the sheet with the layout of the center. If it’s accurate, the weapons are located on the first floor close to the main entrance. If the strong room hasn’t been compromised, we’ll load as many guns as we can carry into the duffle bags, then head back to the riders and be out of here long before dawn breaks.
A few feet from the main entry I signal to the others to hold up. I shine my flashlight over the steel doors, swung wide like lips on a yawning labyrinth. Inside the foyer, a mangled metal entry cage lies open.
“We’ve got about thirty minutes to find the strong room before my flashlight dies,” I say, turning to Trout. “Save yours, for now.”
“Where’s the infirmary at?” Jakob asks.
Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) Page 13