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

by Hinkens, Norma

  “Cool,” he mutters, his eyes moistening.

  I reach inside my pack and glance at the wind-up clock. “We’ve got time. Let’s check out that kitchen. Been a while since I tasted canned anything. Got any fruit?”

  Brock’s face brightens. “Peaches and mandarins.”

  “Lead the way.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hands. “I’m all over a high octane sugar rush.”

  The kitchen is in shambles, partially caved in, the appliances mangled beyond recognition, but true to his word, Brock leads us to a relatively unscathed pantry. Most of the shelves have collapsed, but unopened cans of food, some as big as paint cans, are piled up along the back wall.

  “I’ve been sorting them out,” Brock says. “Organizing them into food groups.

  “Look at all this stuff,” Jakob says, examining the labels. “We should make another run out here and load up on these.”

  I pick up a badly dented can of green beans and rub the dust from the faded label. I never much liked green beans, but I’d be willing to give them another shot.

  I press down on the top of the bulging can and release it. “Hear that popping?” I say. “This one’s a goner. Seal’s broken.”

  Brock looks crestfallen. “Most of them fell off the shelves and got dinged up.”

  “If it’s a small dent, they’re probably fine. Just check them first. Trust me, you’ll know it’s off if it sprays you like a hose when you open it.”

  We can’t agree on any one fruit so we settle on splitting a catering-sized tin of cocktail fruit. Brock places it on the floor in front of Jakob. “You first,” he says, his face lighting up with the first real smile I’ve seen from him. Funny how every kid gravitates toward Jakob. It’s as if they instinctively know they can trust him.

  Jakob reaches into the can and takes a generous fistful of soggy fruit, then sucks on his fingers for the longest time. We wait in silence, breath on pause, until a tiny moan of pleasure makes my saliva swim. I scramble up and grab the can. “That’s it! I’m going in!” I plunge my fingers into the thick syrup, scoop up a handful of cubed pears and peaches and pack them into my mouth as fast as I possibly can. I groan at the back of my throat. The juice ignites my senses like someone’s flicked the lights back on. The syrupy concoction drips down my chin, and I frantically swipe at it with my palm, loathe to lose a drop. Reluctantly, I pass the can to Trout. He hunches over it and digs in, grunting his approval in-between mouthfuls.

  “Hey,” Jakob says, prodding him with his boot. “It’s Brock’s turn!”

  Trout wipes his sleeve across his mouth and grudgingly hands over the can.

  Brock eats sparingly, apparently getting more enjoyment out of watching our reactions than sharing in the spoils.

  “I honestly can’t remember the last time I tasted sugar,” I say, leaning back against the wall after we’ve gorged our way through the entire can.

  “Me neither.” Trout burps loudly. “And to think I used to live for the stuff. First thing every recess—hit the vending machine.”

  There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence. The mention of school, together with the long-forgotten taste of the canned fruit, has dredged up memories we don’t often pass around anymore.

  “We should go,” I say. I pull out the wind-up clock and stare at it. My stomach twists. I shake it once, then toss it back inside, trying not to panic.

  “What is it?” Jakob asks, picking up on my unease.

  “Clock’s given up,” I say, frowning. “I thought we had plenty of time, but … I can’t be sure when it stopped.”

  Trout jumps to his feet, a leery expression on his face. “We need to go right now.”

  “This way,” Brock says, kicking into gear. “I know a short cut.”

  As if compelled by some unspoken agreement, we break into a run after him, dodging past metal tables and chairs riveted to a dining hall floor, and back out into the main corridor.

  “Think the riders will wait for us?” Jakob yells.

  “Hope so,” I yell back. I don’t remind him I was adamant Jody and Ida leave in exactly two hours. If they took off without us, we’ll never make it back to the city before dawn. Our best bet will be to hide out somewhere and wait for nightfall again. And we can’t carry all those guns back without the pack horses. Which means another dangerous mission for Jody and the other riders to retrieve them.

  I pick up my pace behind Brock who, despite his clunky footwear, is as light-footed as a deer in the shadowy corridors, leaping effortlessly over piles of debris. No wonder we couldn’t catch him earlier. He’s probably had nothing better to do for the past few months, in between gorging on canned fruit and green beans, than tear up and down these corridors chasing shadows. He’s a tough kid, holding it together alone all this time.

  When I reach the cave-in, Brock is already scrambling up to the opening we made.

  “No! You stay here!” I say, yanking him back down, as the others come running up behind us. “Trout and I will climb through and hand up the duffle bags. You help Jakob lift them down.”

  I wriggle back through the gap in the wall and jump down on the other side.

  “You good?” Trout calls through to me.

  “Yeah.” I raise my hand to swat away a few crumbs of cement dangling from my hair, and freeze. For a long moment I stand rooted to the spot, my mind laboring to make sense of it. I swivel slowly, doing a quick mental recap of our steps earlier to make sure I’m not mistaken. Then the fear takes hold, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

  The duffle bags are gone.

  20

  Trout sticks his head through the hole in the wall. “Give me a hand, Derry. I’m not as skinny as you.”

  I spin around and stare at him, my breath coming in short, panicked stabs.

  “What is it?” His face creases in alarm. He casts a quick glance around the empty space, and then mutters something under his breath. His voice is hard as flint when he speaks. “Check the strong room!”

  I pull myself together, run to the door, and wrench it open. “It’s empty!”

  “Then get out of there. Now!” Trout yells back.

  The urgency in his voice finally activates my flight response. I scramble up into the opening, legs flexing like spaghetti beneath me. My brain races, trying to piece together what could have happened. Were we followed? Or did someone stumble on the weapons? And where are they now? Trout reaches for my arm, half-dragging me through the opening. I pick myself up off the floor, my skin prickling with fear.

  “We shouldn’t have left them, not even for a minute,” Trout says, angrily. “Wasting time chasing down that kid.”

  “Easy,” I say, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He shakes it off, then turns to Brock, glowering. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Brock shakes his head vehemently, trips backward a couple of steps. “No! I was with you the whole time.”

  Trout grimaces. “Yeah, feeding us treats like we’re dogs. Pretty effective delay tactic.” He sticks his face up close to Brock’s. “Who else is holed up in here with you?”

  Brock’s bottom lip begins to vibrate. “No … no one. It’s just me.”

  “Did you build the false wall?”

  Brock shakes his head vehemently. “I didn’t even know it was there.”

  “Leave the kid alone.” Jakob grabs Trout by the arm. “He’s telling the truth.”

  Trout steps back, his face softening. He runs his hand over the back of his neck, and blows out a hard breath. “I know, I just had to be sure.”

  “We need to get out of here,” I say, snapping back into gear. “Whoever has those weapons probably split already. Rogues, most likely. We need to reach the riders before it’s too late.”

  “You don’t think whoever took the guns would harm the riders, do you?” Jakob asks.

  “I don’t know.” I rumple my brow. “Maybe. If they wanted the horses.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Trout says, grabbing
his pack.

  Minutes later, we’re back at the reeducation center main entrance. I peer out from behind the steel doors and pan the area inside the perimeter fence, then motion for the others to follow. I jog toward the gap in the fence, bracing for a bullet, flinching at every shadow that shifts. As I run I heave cold, rasping breaths of night air, chancing a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the others are behind me. My legs won’t pump any faster, but the trees don’t seem to be getting any closer. Fear swells inside me with every stride. Those weapons didn’t pick themselves up and walk off into the night.

  We pile up like freight cars at the broken section of the fence we came in by.

  “Hurry!” I say, casting a quick glance around to make sure we’re not being followed.

  We shove each other through the opening, and hotfoot it toward the tree line. I push through the undergrowth until it closes in around me, and the reeducation center is obscured from view. Gasping, I come to a halt and lean forward on my thighs to catch my breath. Sweat drips off the end of my nose. The others pull up alongside me, and collapse on the ground, panting.

  “You okay?” I ask, looking down at Jakob. He nods, still trying to catch his breath, then gestures at Brock, curled into a ball beside him, his scrawny frame shaking like a jelly.

  “Hey! Brock!” I say. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” he replies, his voice muffled. He rolls over and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes.

  I kneel down and help him into a sitting position. “What is it?”

  He sniffs, wipes his sleeve carefully across his nose. “I’m scared of the Rogues.” His voice wavers. “And I miss my family.”

  My heart twists. It’s a pain I can’t erase, not for him, not for Izzy, not for any of us. The Rogues won’t stop butchering Undergrounders as long as the bootlegged clones keep operating as snitches. The only way to stop the killing is to eradicate the Sweepers. It’s the right choice, no matter the cost.

  Trout gets to his feet. “We need to find the riders,” he says. He reaches for his pack and winces.

  “Is your hand hurting?” Jakob asks.

  “Throbbing like crazy.”

  “It’s probably just ’cause your blood’s pounding through you right now,” Jakob says. “Once we get back to the city, you can have the doctor take a look at it just to be safe.”

  I sling my rifle over my shoulder. “Let’s go, and stay alert. Remember what Big Ed always says, you can hear in all directions.”

  Jakob stares at me for a long moment, then looks away, disconcerted. I’ve avoided mentioning Big Ed since we left him behind at the Council’s base. Mainly because I know Jakob feels guilty about ditching him. No doubt Big Ed raked himself over the coals when he discovered Jakob had disappeared in the middle of the night. I’m still worried he might have set out after him, but he hasn’t shown up at the city yet.

  When we finally reach the clearing where we left Jody and the other riders, the last glimmer of hope inside me, flickers and dies. They’ve already packed up and gone.

  Jakob stares forlornly at a pile of horse manure. “We’ll never catch them on foot. Now what?”

  Trout gestures with his chin at the fringe of tawny light on the horizon. “It’s too dangerous to head back now. The sun will be up in another hour.”

  Brock shuffles his oversized boots nervously in the leaves beneath him. “We can’t stay here. I’ve seen Sweeper ships hovering around the reeducation center.”

  “So we’ve got two lousy choices,” Jakob says. “Follow the riders, and risk extraction. Or hunker down until nightfall, and risk being attacked by whoever stole the weapons.”

  “We could go back to the center,” Brock suggests.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Whoever took those guns might still be in there. We could end up trapped inside.” I study the sky dubiously. “There’s a chance the riders had to switch up their hiding spot if there were Rogues in the area. I say we follow their trail. They might still be waiting for us.”

  The others exchange perturbed glances. Trout scratches his forehead. “All right, but if there’s no sign of them in the next hour or two, we’ll cut a swathe deep into the undergrowth and hunker down until nightfall.”

  I raise a questioning brow at Jakob and he gives a disgruntled nod in response. “You stay close to me,” he says, putting an arm around Brock as we set off.

  The horses’ trail is difficult to follow, the ground too hard to detect any reliable prints. To make matters worse, it’s not light out yet and, despite all our efforts to coax some cooperation out of our flashlights, most of them are certifiably dead. More than once I’m tempted to abandon the attempt, and find some place safe to hole up in instead. But then I make out another hoof print and convince myself we can still catch up with Jody and Ida.

  Just when dawn is beginning to spill between the seams of the slate colored mountains, I hear a breathy snort followed by a deep, resonant nicker. I spin around to the others, a smile exploding over my face. “Did you hear that?”

  Jakob and Brock look at one another and grin. Trout lets out a wild whoop. Abandoning every last ounce of caution, we sprint off through the brush in the direction the sounds came from. “Jody!” I yell. “Ida, where are you?”

  I hear a loud whistle, and immediately alter course to follow it, my heart pounding. Seconds later, I burst through a thicket into a small clearing and startle one of the pack horses. He rears up and bares his teeth at me. The others burst through after me, sending him into an even bigger frenzy.

  “Whoa! Easy, boy,” Trout says.

  Jody dashes over and grabs the horse’s rope, then turns to us, grinning. “Took your sweet time.”

  A relieved smile breaks over my face. “I told you not to wait.”

  “I try not to leave riders behind.”

  “Especially not novices,” Ida says, joining us. She eyes Brock curiously. “Who’s the kid?”

  “This is Brock. He survived a raid on his bunker two months ago, and he’s been living in the reeducation center ever since.”

  “By yourself?” Jody tips her hat up at him, her face registering disbelief.

  He shrugs. “There’s canned fruit and vegetables in the kitchen.”

  “Did you bring any?” Ida asks, arching a hopeful brow at me.

  I shake my head. “Just some antibiotics.” I grimace. “Someone took the weapons we found.”

  Jody walks over to one of the pack horses and flips open the saddlebags. “You mean these weapons?”

  My jaw drops.

  “How did you …” Jakob looks from Jody to me and then back to Jody.

  Jody laughs. “You were gone for hours, so we took a couple of the pack horses and went after you. We followed your footprints to the weapons. When we couldn’t find you anywhere, we hauled the guns and ammo out of there and loaded them up. We waited around for another half hour or so, and then started back.”

  “That must have been during our sugar fest. We were down a level in the kitchen area, and didn’t hear a thing,” Jakob replies. “We lost track of time.”

  “Can we please go now?” Brock asks.

  Jody turns to me. “He’ll have to ride a pack horse. Won’t be easy with the saddle bags.”

  “I know how to ride,” Brock says, leveling his gaze at her. “My dad’s … my dad was a rancher.”

  Jody nods, a flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes. “Good enough for me.”

  She walks over to one of the pack horses at the far end of the clearing and rubs his neck briskly. “This old boy’s a sweetheart. Come on. I’ll give you a leg up.” She helps Brock onto the horse, and adjusts the saddle bags beneath him.

  “Watch this,” Brock calls to us, as he guides the horse around in a circle.

  Jakob gives him a thumbs up. “Maybe you can give me a lesson when we get back.”

  Brock smiles, then seconds later his face contorts. I catch a glint of something, a ripple of air like a serpent’s breath, then a dull
thud as his body hits the ground. The gleaming tube whips around and suctions onto him, leech-like and merciless. The horses rear up and snort, their eyes bulging. I gasp, as the horror of what’s happening hits me.

  Brock’s piercing scream cuts through the air as the tube yanks him up and out of the clearing. I watch, helplessly, as he’s wrenched skyward, toothpick legs flailing in his oversized boots.

  21

  Half-blinded by a cloud of dust kicked up by the spooked horses, I stumble around, calling out frantically for the others.

  “Jump up!” Jody yells, riding up alongside me. She thrusts out a hand, a look of grim determination on her face.

  I hesitate, my eyes tearing up from the grit. “What about the others?”

  “They’re coming. Grab my hand!”

  I throw a glance back at the whinnying dust cloud behind us, then grip Jody’s glove and swing myself up behind her. Before I’m fully seated, Condor rockets out of the clearing, ears flattened. I dig in my thighs and cling to Jody’s waist as we gallop madly through the forest, tree limbs scratching at us like ravenous claws.

  My thoughts swirl in a dark cloud of disbelief and despair. I’m sick to the pit of my stomach at what just happened. We promised Brock we’d get him safely to the city. I can only imagine how terrified he must feel strapped inside a Hovermedes. We have to reach the Craniopolis and save him before it’s too late. There’s no time to waste training the Undergrounders. Either Jerome agrees to leave right away, or I leave without him.

  We ride hard, for a boneshaking hour, until Jody finally slows Condor to a trot. “That’s the city up ahead,” she says.

  I peer through the trees and squint into the sun, now rising on the horizon like a flaming hot air balloon. A citrus-colored wash spills over the granite peaks. In the distance I can make out the steel girder and barbed-wire barricade wrapped around Shoshane City like a sleeping anaconda. Tears prickle my nose. It’s a bittersweet sight. Brock should have been here with us.