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

by Hinkens, Norma

  We cover another quarter mile or so before Jody brings Condor to an abrupt halt in a small copse of trees. I squeeze my knees together to avoid sliding off. “Why are we stopping?” I ask, as the rest of the group trots up alongside us.

  She reaches into a saddle bag and pulls out a pair of binoculars. “Red flag’s up by the entry.”

  “What does that mean?” Trout asks.

  “Hostiles spotted,” Jody answers in a grim tone. She lets the reins go slack and twists her torso slowly as she pans the barricade.

  I frown. “Maybe the Rogues have come back for Blade.”

  “Now what?” Jakob asks, scratching his brow. “Are we stuck here?”

  “We’ll skirt around to the north side of the barricade,” Jody replies. “If there’s no red flag hanging on that side, it’s safe to go in that way.”

  “I thought there was only one entry gate,” Trout says.

  “There is.” Jody slips the binoculars back into her saddle bag, and throws him a knowing look. “Trust me on this.” She makes a clicking sound, pulses once with her legs, and we’re off again. I lean forward, my stomach muscles clenching into a familiar, burning knot as we pick up speed. We keep to the cover of the trees, cutting a steady line north to the outskirts of the city.

  Minutes later, we slow our pace again and make a ninety degree turn toward the barricade. I anxiously scan the debris for any sign of a container gate, but there’s nothing that looks even remotely like a way in. I keep a wary eye out for Rogues as we weave our way through abandoned shopping carts, burnt out vehicles, mangled iron and broken signage. A one-eyed doll peers up at me from atop a pile of splintered lumber and warped siding. My mind flits back to the deviations in the Craniopolis, discards in a world that has lost all reason. The Shoshane City I grew up in, bustling with shops and malls, cars and bikes zipping by, seems more and more like some wishful apparition I dreamed up.

  We pick a path through what’s left of a disused gas station, the lone pump tilting in an awkward salute to its fallen comrades. A hazy memory of Ma slipping Owen and me a few bucks to run into the convenience store while she gassed up comes to mind. I always came back out with a bag of Whoppers, but I can’t remember what they taste like anymore. Even the bright colors on the wrapper have faded to a dull wash in my mind.

  At first I think Jody’s picking a random path through the festering trash, but then I realize it’s a cleverly camouflaged trail that zigzags toward the barricade. There’s still no apparent entry into the city from this side, and the closer we get, the more perplexed I become. “How are we going to get through the barricade?” I ask, leaning forward to talk in Jody’s ear.

  “We’re not,” she says, with a chuckle. “We’re going under.”

  I look around for some indication of a tunnel, but come up flat. Whatever they’ve got going on here, it’s well-concealed. Twenty feet from the barricade, Jody pulls hard on the reins and turns around to me. “Here’s where we dismount,” she says.

  I slide down from Condor’s back and shrug in response to Trout’s raised brows.

  Jody jumps down and hands Condor’s reins to me. “Hold these for a minute,” she says. She walks over to a rusted out shell of an old school bus with all the windows busted out. A mouse darts past a gnawed Avengers lunchbox lying by the front wheel and disappears. Jody leans inside and lifts up the knotted end of a rope hidden in the stuffing of the driver’s seat. She yanks on it hard three times.

  A baffled look flits across Trout’s face. “What’s she doing?”

  Ida grins. “Ringing the doorbell to the underworld.”

  A moment later, a low creaking begins in the bowels of the wreckage. My eyes dart around in alarm. “What’s that noise?”

  “Watch the bus,” Ida says, gesturing at it.

  My eyes widen as the entire carcass of the bus slowly hinges back, revealing a large, dirt tunnel that slopes underground.

  “The bus is on a pulley system,” Ida explains, a hint of pride in her voice. “It can only be opened from underground.”

  “Let’s go!” Jody casts a quick glance behind us, then grabs the reins back from me and leads Condor down into the darkness. Ida follows suit, leading the tethered pack horses behind her own.

  “That’s pretty sick,” Trout says, shaking his head in disbelief as he follows the riders.

  “Better get a move on, before the Magic School Bus hatch closes,” I say to Jakob. He holds out his hand for mine as we descend into the earthen tunnel, but I pretend not to notice. The low, creaking begins again and the light behind us disappears.

  The tunnel leads up into a deserted building with a loading dock at one end. Several armed Undergrounders vet us like bridge trolls as we exit, nodding grimly.

  “City’s on full alert,” one of them says. “Jerome wants to see you at the courthouse.”

  “We’re headed there right now,” I reply.

  We make our way outside and across the deserted city. My stomach grinds constantly with the sick, twisted fear that we won’t make it to the Craniopolis in time to save Brock, let alone Owen and Panju. If Rogues are closing in on the city, how will I ever be able to persuade Jerome to leave right now?

  Several more armed Undergrounders greet us on the courthouse steps and direct Jody and Ida to tie up the horses at a rail out front. “Jerome ordered us to keep the exit ways clear,” one of the guards explains.

  Jody turns to me. “I’m not leaving the horses here.” She drops her voice. “Not with all the weapons they’re packing. Ida and I will take them back to the barn while you go in and talk to Jerome.”

  “And I need to get the medicine to Izzy’s brother right away,” Jakob says, patting his backpack. “Every minute counts. You can bring me up to speed later.”

  I raise my brows at Trout. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me you’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Don’t worry,” he grins, waving his bandaged hand in front of my face. “Doc Jakob has me all taken care of. I keep telling you he’s a stand-up guy.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “We’re getting your head, as well as your hand, looked at after this, I can promise you that.”

  We jog up the steps and through the main entrance, and run straight into Sven in the foyer. My heart jolts in slow motion, and for a frozen moment in time I forget about everything that’s just happened.

  “You’re back!” he says, his amber eyes sparkling with a level of emotion I’ve never seen in them before. “I was worried about you when I heard about the Rogues.”

  “We came in through a tunnel on the north side,” I say.

  “I’m glad … you’re safe,” he says, reaching for my hand. Before I realize what’s happening, he leans over, and brushes my cheek softly with his lips.

  “Derry!”

  I stiffen at the harsh note in Trout’s voice.

  “We’ve got an important meeting with Jerome,” he says, gruffly.

  Sven smiles as I pull away from him. “I’ll catch up with you at the barn. Tucker’ll be glad to see you. He’s tired of babysitting Sook.” He nods at a scowling Trout and disappears out into the courtyard.

  Before Trout has a chance to say anything more, I turn and stride down the corridor to Jerome’s office, my heart racing.

  Jerome is hunched at his desk, a grave expression on his corrugated black face. He jolts to his feet when we walk in, a questioning look in his eye. I dive right in and break the news about Brock, then make my case for leaving right away for the Craniopolis. Trout stands by my side with his arms folded, frowning the entire time. I wish he’d say something to support me. He’s ticked off about what happened with Sven. No doubt Jakob will hear all about it before I’ve had a chance to tell him myself.

  “With or without you, I’m leaving tomorrow,” I say, frowning at Jerome. “I can’t risk anything happening to Brock.”

  Jerome cracks his knuckles and paces back and forth. “We can’t leave yet. The Undergrounders aren’t ready. And the sentries have
spotted more Rogues. A larger group this time. It would be risky to leave the city vulnerable.”

  “Then we should send Rummy out to recruit them to go with us.” I bite my bottom lip and stare at Jerome. “Maybe The Ghost’s with them.”

  Jerome frowns. “If that’s the case it would save us a two-day hike into the wilderness.”

  “And if we give Rummy twenty-four hours to negotiate, that would allow us at least one day to train the Undergrounders.”

  Jerome rubs his brow, as if mulling it over. “How many guns did you find?”

  I blink, trying to do a rough calculation in my head.

  “Twenty-six AR-15’s, twenty-one Glocks, and a bunch of ammo,” Trout pipes up.

  I turn to him and raise my brows. I had no idea he’d inventoried everything. He may be a pain in the neck at times, but he’s a stickler for details, and that’s a skill we can use in the days ahead.

  “Where are the weapons now?” Jerome asks.

  “At the barn,” Trout says. “With Jody.”

  Jerome lifts his pistol from his desk and holsters it. “Have the riders bring them to the lot where the Undergrounders are training. We’ll meet there and make our decision after we assess them.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “That way we don’t lose any time.” I can’t resist smiling to myself as I make my way to the door. My powers of persuasion worked.

  There are close to two hundred Undergrounders spread out over a large empty lot, shooting at targets for the most part, a few practicing hand-to-hand combat maneuvers. I survey the glistening faces seamed in concentration. Some are stiff-backed and flustered, others limber and hollow-faced. Trout and I wander down the line and study the targets they’re shooting at.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I mutter to Trout.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Half of them are a liability with a gun. And there’s no point dragging along anyone who can’t keep up.” I gesture with my chin at the man in front of us, brows drawn together over his bulbous nose, stomach sagging over his pants, He wheezes intermittently as he lines up his shot.

  I observe another round of shooting before walking over to Jerome. “There are too many volunteers,” I say. “We need to be able to move efficiently through the Craniopolis. I say we start by getting rid of anyone who can’t shoot straight.” My eyes light on a shooter three targets down, effortlessly riddling the bullseye. “I want to hand pick them, thirty, forty at most.”

  Jerome sweeps his eye over the parking lot, then nods, a resolute look on his face. “Make the call.” He stares at me intently. “Then we’ll talk about sending Rummy out to negotiate with the Rogues.”

  I spend the next hour or so walking slowly up and down the line of shooters, leaning over their shoulders, discreetly slipping a pebble in the pocket of everyone I’m electing to bring.

  Once I’m satisfied with my selections, I let Jerome know. He signals to one of his men to begin rounding up the volunteers. When they’re all assembled, Jerome gestures at me to address them.

  I step up on a crate and glance around at their drawn faces. Mason’s words rise up inside me: They’re all afraid. They need someone to believe in. I take a deep breath to calm my own fear. “The mission you have volunteered for is full of unknowns. I can’t guarantee all of us will come back alive, but I know that together we can defeat the monsters who are destroying what’s left of our world. We can begin again—a world for us, and by us. A world without Sweepers.”

  A roar erupts from the crowd and the Undergrounders brandish their guns in the air. I raise a hand to settle them back down. “I’m going to divide you into two groups. One will carry out the attack on the Craniopolis, the other will guard the city while we’re gone.” A hush of expectation falls over them. “Those of you with a pebble in your pocket, step to the right,” I say. “The rest of you go to the left.”

  The Undergrounders exchange baffled looks, shuffle uncomfortably, then slowly break apart and move into position. When they’re done, three-quarters of them are standing on the left side of the parking lot.

  I focus my gaze on them. “Your job is to defend the city while the rest of us are gone. Go home to your families now,” I say, dismissing them with a salute. “You’re done for the day.”

  They murmur among themselves for a few moments, then begin drifting off in small groups. The Undergrounders on the right remain silent, eyes forward. A heavy weight of responsibility mantles their faces.

  “The rest of you familiarize yourselves with the weapons we brought from the reeducation center,” I say. “Your lives may well depend on your mastery of them.”

  I step down off the crate, feeling lighter inside. I’ve eliminated over half of the Undergrounders, but those who are left are skilled shooters.

  “Now what?” Trout asks.

  I arch a brow at him. “I think it’s time Rummy got some fresh air.”

  “It’s a risky move, sending him out there,” Jerome says. “He might not come back, not even for Blade.”

  I run my fingers down the length of my braid wishing I had the luxury of a hot shower to look forward to. “I’d rather know that now than waste two days hiking into the wilderness to find out where his loyalties lie.”

  “So what’s your plan?” Trout asks.

  I give him a sly look. “I thought we’d do it Wild West style. Tie his hands behind his back and send him out there with a note on his chest.”

  I give a curt nod in passing to the guard outside the courthouse and tread up the steps behind Trout and Jerome into the courthouse foyer. The heavy presence of armed Undergrounders stationed around the city is an ominous reminder of the mounting threat, and how fragile the existence Jerome has built here really is.

  “I’ll look around for something to write the note on,” Jerome says, when we reach his office. “I’ll meet you at the holding cell.”

  I turn and exit the room, just as Blackbeard topples into the hallway, smearing the wall crimson as he slides to the floor.

  22

  My breath sticks in my throat. Silently, I slip my gun from my shoulder. Behind me I hear the subtle click of Trout’s weapon. Jerome steps out of his office, clutching a piece of cardboard. I signal to him to take cover, and then aim my gun at the doorway leading into the holding cell.

  Jerome throws a perplexed look down the hallway, then stiffens when he sees Blackbeard slumped on the floor in the hall, his blood daubed on the wall behind him. “No!” Jerome yells, breaking into a run toward him.

  My heart jams in my throat. Trout and I lock eyes for a second, and then race down the corridor after him, covering him as best we can as he dashes past a line of open offices. If Blade and Rummy are on the loose, they can’t have got far. But they’re almost certainly armed now.

  “He’s still breathing!” Jerome yells, dropping to his knees at Blackbeard’s side.

  Blackbeard raises his head a few centimeters and Jerome cradles him in his arms. That’s when I see the scissors sticking out of Blackbeard’s neck. He opens his lips, but when he tries to speak he sounds like he’s gargling gravel.

  “Don’t talk,” Jerome urges him, his own voice hoarse with emotion. He looks up at us, a hard cord pulsing in his temple. “Tell the guard outside the courthouse to activate lockdown. And get a doctor over here right away.”

  “I’ll go,” Trout says, before turning to me. “You got them covered?”

  I nod, and watch him disappear at the end of the hallway, my heart pumping furiously.

  Blackbeard stretches out his hand and grasps onto Jerome. Something rattles in his throat, but the few words he spits out are unintelligible.

  “Lay still,” Jerome says, leaning down close to his face. “You’re gonna be all right.”

  “I’ll look around the holding cell,” I say, averting my eyes from Blackbeard’s neck.

  The plastic ties Sven bound the Rogues’ wrists with are lying on the floor at the back of the cell. I pick them up and examine them. Clean c
uts. The padlock dangles from the metal door, the key still in it. I frown, trying to piece together what went down. Rummy must have stolen the scissors from Jerome’s desk when all the commotion went down earlier. Blade probably grabbed an unsuspecting Blackbeard the first time he got too close to the bars, while Rummy plunged the scissors into his neck and yanked the keys off him.

  I walk back out into the hallway. Jerome looks up at me expectantly, and I show him what’s left of the plastic ties. “Looks like they used the scissors to cut these before they stabbed Blackbeard. I’m guessing one of them held him through the bars while the other one stabbed him.”

  “His gun’s gone,” Jerome says, his eye fixed on Blackbeard’s ashen face. “Rummy and Blade will wreak havoc out there.”

  “They might still be hiding inside the building.”

  Jerome lifts his face so his eye is locked on mine. “You’re responsible for bringing these animals into the city. Find them, before they turn it into a slaughterhouse.”

  My spine tingles at the icy tone in his voice; the same unnerving tone he used when he accused Trout and me of being snitches when the riders first brought us in. If Blade or Rummy hurt even one more person, the only mission this city will be going on will be to assassinate me.

  “I’ll find them,” I say, casting one last glance down at Blackbeard. “I think I know how to lure them out.”

  I take a fluttery breath.

  I’ll be the bait.

  Blade won’t go far, not until he’s at least taken a shot at me. The level of hatred he has for me will never be satisfied by simply escaping the city. Slowly, I move down the hallway to the first office, trying to focus on everything Mason ever taught me about situational awareness. Dripping with sweat, I nudge the inward-swinging door with my foot and step back. The door creaks open six inches, then starts to swing back on itself. I block it with my boot, and take a quick, steadying breath. I sweep the room, rotating in place, then edge inside and check behind the door.