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

by Hinkens, Norma

  Trout twists his lips nervously. “How tight is this tunnel exactly?”

  A smile tugs at Jerome’s lips. “Hold your gut in and you’ll do fine.” He lowers himself down inside the tunnel and motions for his men to follow.

  “You go,” I say to Jakob. “I’ll be right behind you, Trout can bring up the rear.”

  Jakob’s head bobs briefly above the trapdoor entry before he disappears inside. I throw one last glance over my shoulder at the flickering superconductor, then climb into the tunnel after him and drop to the dirt floor. Stooping over, I feel for the walls and follow the sound of voices up ahead. The familiar smell of warm earth composting in on itself fills my nostrils. My chest compresses and I imagine the air thinning with every step. The bunker tunnels are cavernous compared to this. My muscles are already cramping up in anticipation of the awkward position we’ll be forced to endure for the next hour. The thin trail of light up ahead from Jerome’s flashlight only renders the cocoon of dirt around me that much more claustrophobic.

  I twist my head awkwardly to holler back to Trout. “You all right?”

  He lets out a disgruntled snort. “Just living the high life.”

  Ten minutes in, and we’ve all stopped talking—we’re too busy absorbing the excruciating shooting pains in our backs and legs. We squat as we move along the tunnel in strained silence, nerves burning up with each awkward step. Our few sparse exchanges are focused on how much farther we have to go. No one voices my biggest fear. What if the tunnel’s caved in at some point and we have to turn around? Just when I think I’d rather lay down and let rigor mortis have its evil way with me, Jerome yells back to us, “We’re here!”

  I let my aching shoulders sag with relief. The full brunt of the pain circulating through my body hits in a burning cramp, and I clutch the sides of the dirt wall until the wave passes. Behind me, I hear Trout take a long, rasping breath. “I’m not called to walk on all fours,” he groans.

  Everyone laughs.

  “Cut the racket,” Jerome calls back to us. “I’m about to open the hatch.”

  “Where does it lead to?” Jakob asks.

  “A supply room next to my office.”

  We wait in strained silence as Jerome raises the manual entry hatch. He slowly elevates his head and surveys the space. “All clear,” he announces, a palpable hint of relief in his voice. He climbs out of the tunnel, followed by his men, and then Jakob. I pull myself up into the room after them, then sink back against a wall, stiff as a slab of half-defrosted meat.

  We huddle around in the small space, rubbing the circulation back into our arms and legs. When we can finally stand without shaking, we ready our weapons.

  “Remember, the guns are only a deterrent,” I say, looking around the room. “We just need to get inside the meeting room and show them that Jerome’s alive. Whistler’s not gonna shoot us in a room full of Undergrounders and riders.”

  Cautiously, Jerome opens the door and peers into the corridor.

  I lean over to him and mutter. “Let’s check the holding cell first, in case they’ve taken Sook there.”

  He nods and motions us forward. Inch by inch, we make our way down the corridor toward the holding cell. Jerome sticks his head around the door. “Empty,” he mouths to us. I can’t help but feel some relief at the news. Sven must have managed to keep Sook hidden from the instigators.

  Following Jerome’s lead, we creep farther along the main corridor in tight formation. I can’t help but notice through a crack in a boarded-up window that it’s getting dark outside. My pulse thuds at the back of my throat. If Jerome’s wrong about the city’s loyalty to him, and we miss the deadline with the Rogues, we’ll all be fried to a crisp by morning. Not something I care to picture.

  At the end of the corridor that opens up into the foyer, Jerome signals to us to halt. “There’s a guard outside the main entry doors leading to the meeting room,” he says.

  “I’ll approach him from the corridor on the other side and distract him while you sneak up on him,” I say. I slip off to circle back around before Jerome can object. When I reach the other side of the building I flatten myself against the wall and crane my neck around the corner. The guard is leaning up against the door, picking at something in his teeth. I can’t see Jerome around the opposite corner, but I know he’s watching. I make an “O” with my thumb and forefinger. Without taking my eyes off the guard, I reach my hand into my pack and grab a couple of fishing weights. I take a quick breath and then hurl them across the floor in his direction. He startles, looks up, then raises his weapon at me. Jerome springs from behind and lunges, swinging a clean uppercut punch that knocks him out cold. I give Jerome an approving nod.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, signaling to the others.

  On the count of three we burst open the double doors to the courthouse and charge through. Shouts of disbelief ring out as we thunder past Undergrounders and riders to the front of the hall. Several guards, dressed in fatigues, finger their weapons, confusion pooling over their faces as they dart glances between Whistler and Jerome.

  “Traitors! Take them down!” Whistler yells, his long face hollowed out, eyes flashing.

  The guards raise their weapons halfheartedly in our direction, and then quickly lower them again when the crowd protests.

  “Whistler lied to us!” a burly man yells out.

  Several fists shoot up and the crowd surges forward.

  A low chant begins at the back of the room, then picks up volume. “Jer-ome! Jer-ome! Jer-ome!”

  I look around the room, keeping a close eye on the loaded weapons, a couple of which are still aimed in our direction. Whistler’s men will be too intimidated by the crowd to shoot us now, but people make mistakes when they’re scared.

  “It’s over, Whistler,” Jerome shouts out. He takes another step toward the front of the room. “I lead this city.”

  “The Undergrounders don’t want a deviation leading them,” Whistler yells. “How do we know you’re not luring us straight into the Sweepers’ jaws? Is that what this sudden rush to get to the Craniopolis is really about?”

  “The attack on the Craniopolis was my idea,” I shout up to him. “I convinced Jerome that we could defeat the Sweepers if the Undergrounder Council and the city banded together.”

  “We want one of our own kind to lead us,” Whistler retorts. He juts his chin in Jerome’s direction. “Not some freak from the Craniopolis. He lied to us already about the superconductor. We don’t trust him.”

  I turn to the sea of faces pressing in. “Jerome’s a good man,” I say. “He’s protected you well, fortified the city, and developed food and water supplies to support the growing population. He didn’t want to alarm you when he found out about the radiation leaks, but he’s doing everything he can to resolve it. And as for him being a deviation, he may not look like you or I, but it’s through no fault of his own. People, who do look like you and I did that to him.”

  “I have no quarrel with Jerome,” says a red-haired woman holding a child by the hand.

  Several voices murmur in agreement.

  A bearded man at the front steps forward. “I’m with Whistler. We’ve no business following a deviation. What if he turns on us once we’re inside the Craniopolis? Sells us out to save his own kind?”

  “Let’s take a vote on it,” several voices call out.

  Whistler stares across at Jerome, eyes bulging. At first I think he’s waiting on Jerome’s response, but then he walks over to him and whispers something in his ear.

  A deep flush creeps up Jerome’s neck. He wipes a hand across his brow and then turns to address the crowd. I can tell even from here that he’s deeply shaken. He holds up a hand for silence.

  An expectant hush falls over the Undergrounders.

  “There will be no vote,” he says. “My decision is final. Whistler will lead you.”

  31

  I grip my gun so tightly my knuckles feel like they’re about to burst. Jerome looks str
aight at me, his coffee-colored eye begging me to understand, to forgive him for something I can’t quite grasp yet.

  “Wait a minute!” the red-haired woman shouts up. “We should get to decide who leads us.”

  The crowd shifts uneasily, clamoring for an explanation.

  Jerome holds up his hands again to placate them. “Whistler’s right,” he says. “It was wrong of me to ask you to follow a deviation. If I expire at a critical juncture on this mission, I could endanger all of your lives. And Lyong will show no mercy to anyone serving under a wanted deviation.” He pauses, and gives a heavy sigh. “You will leave tonight as planned, but under Whistler’s command. I will stay behind and ensure the city remains operational.”

  Discontent oozes from every corner of the hall, but Whistler starts barking out orders and the crowd begins to disperse under the sway of the fatigue-clad Undergrounders.

  I elbow my way over to Jerome. “What are you doing?” I hiss at him.

  He flicks a quick glance Whistler’s way. “They’re holding Blackbeard at the clinic,” he says in a low voice. “Whistler threatened to kill him—he might be dead already for all I know. I had no choice but to go along with this sham for now.”

  My mind reels. I rub my fingers across my brow desperate for a flash of inspiration. We have to win the balance of power back from Whistler before the deadline with The Ghost. Whistler has no idea who he’s going up against.

  “Got a problem with something, partner?” Whistler asks, coming up alongside me. He gives me a sly smile and drapes an arm over my shoulder.

  I shrug him off. “You’re making a huge mistake,” I say. “We need Jerome’s expertise on this mission. And the people listen to him.”

  Whistler’s smile fades. “He might have sold you that line, but I know better. Deviations have no value, inside the Craniopolis or out. All we need is the clone. Now get your pack and come with me. It’s time to go over our strategy.”

  I reach for my pack and hoist it over my shoulder as Whistler heads for the door.

  “Send someone to find Sven and have him meet me at the clinic in ten minutes,” I whisper to Jerome in passing.

  I motion to Trout and Jakob, and we follow Whistler and his guards out of the main hall and back down the corridor to Jerome’s office.

  “Before we discuss anything, I want to see Blackbeard.” I say.

  Whistler stops rummaging through a drawer, and eyes me suspiciously.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I know you’re holding him.”

  An irritated look comes over Whistler’s face. “Don’t worry about him. He’s being well looked after. Now let’s get on with it. I need you to bring me up to speed on the plan so far.”

  I set my jaw. “Not until I see for myself that Blackbeard’s all right.”

  Whistler slams his palms hard on the table. “You’ll just have to trust me that he’s fine.”

  I stick my face up close to his. “I don’t trust anybody until they’ve proven themselves. Either you take me to Blackbeard or you’re not in on the plan.”

  Whistler takes a step backward, glances uncertainly from me to Trout, then across at his men. “Take her to the clinic and then bring her straight back.”

  “No,” I say. “We’ll all go. I don’t trust you out of my sight yet.”

  A flicker of anger crosses Whistler’s face. “We’re running out of time, and we still have to get the Undergrounders organized.”

  “Yeah well, you wanted the job with the big office, so deal with it.”

  Whistler glowers at me. “You get two minutes to make sure he still has a pulse, and then we make tracks.”

  When we reach the clinic, Whistler rests one leg on the retaining wall outside and gestures for me to go in. “Two minutes,” he says. “We’ll be waiting.”

  I push open the door and enter the foyer. Trout and Jakob follow me inside. I’m expecting to encounter a few more fatigue-clad Undergrounders assigned to guard Blackbeard, but there’s no one inside. “Doc?” I call out.

  “He’s probably in the back,” Jakob says.

  The front door opens again and Whistler looks around suspiciously. “Where are the guards?” he asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice. His men trade wary glances as they follow him inside.

  “There’s no one here,” I say.

  Whistler jerks his head around to confirm. He mutters something to the guards, then loads a round in his rifle. He wets his lips, then slowly opens the door leading to the examination rooms and slips inside the hallway. A moment later, there’s a dull thud. Before the guards have a chance to make a move, Sven’s massive frame fills the doorway. He pans his weapon slowly around the room, an unconscious Whistler tucked under his left arm. The guards freeze, their eyes darting to me for direction.

  “Put down your guns.” I say, relief flooding through me. “This is where Whistler’s little stunt ends.”

  Without hesitation, they crouch down and lay their rifles at their feet. Trout motions them to the back of the room and stands guard over them.

  I throw Sven a grateful smile. “Wasn’t sure you’d get the message in time,” I say when he walks up to me.

  He shoulders his rifle. “I just got here a few minutes ago, right about the time a couple of fatigue-clad Undergrounders tried to kick the doctor out. I knocked them out cold, they’re tied up in the supply closet.”

  “And the doctor?” I ask.

  Sven grins. “He’s got his hands full back there persuading Blackbeard to let him check his vitals. Blackbeard wanted in on the action, got his blood pressure up.”

  “What about Nikki?”

  Sven looks at me, puzzled. “What about her?”

  “She’s back there too, right?”

  Sven shakes his head. “Just Blackbeard, far as I know.”

  My stomach tightens. The look of dread in Jakob’s eyes tells me he’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.

  “Stay with Trout,” I say to Sven. “I need to make sure Nikki’s not back there in one of the other rooms.”

  Jakob and I dart down the short corridor to the room we left her in. The bed is empty. My scalp prickles. We run next door, then check several more rooms, before reaching Blackbeard’s room. “Where’s Nikki?” I yell to the doctor who’s standing by his bed.

  He pulls the stethoscope from his ears. “They let her go,” he says, frowning.

  “Who? Whistler’s men?”

  He nods. “I tried to reason with them, but they didn’t want anyone else back here with Blackbeard.”

  My brain fills with static.

  Blackbeard trains his shrewd eyes on me. “She was rabbiting on about joining the mission. Probably gone by her place to grab her pack. You might still catch her if you hurry.”

  I give him a grateful nod. “Jerome could really use your support at the courthouse after what went down.”

  The doctor makes a disapproving sound. “He shouldn’t be going anywhere yet.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Blackbeard says, getting to his feet. “You have two new patients to worry about now anyway. I’m willing to bet those Undergrounder guards Sven socked in the head have some serious concussions.”

  The doctor sighs and pockets his stethoscope. “Very well, but keep an eye on the wound. And don’t even think about joining the mission. You need to stay here under medical supervision.”

  “We’ll meet you back at the courthouse,” I say to Blackbeard, raising my brows in conspiratorial fashion.

  Jakob and I exit the room and head back out to the foyer.

  “We still have time to make the deadline with the Rogues if we hurry,” I say to Trout. “Take the guards and Blackbeard with you, and tell Jerome to resume leadership and assemble the Undergrounders.”

  Trout frowns. “Where are you going?”

  “Nikki’s disappeared. Jakob and I will meet you back at the courthouse as soon as we’ve tracked her down.”

  I turn to Sven. “You got Whistler covered?”

  He grin
s. “I’ll add him to my collection. Rummy and Sook are tied up back at the rider’s barn. I didn’t want to leave Rummy in his cell after that last meeting. I was afraid he might have been able to persuade one of those rabble rousers to free him. I’ll round them all up and bring them to the courthouse.”

  “Give Tucker some loving from me,” I add, wistfully. I wish I didn’t have to leave him behind, but it wouldn’t be fair to put him through what lies ahead.

  Sven smiles, his amber eyes softening. “You know it.”

  I can’t help envying Tucker the chance to snuggle into Sven’s broad chest, but I push the thought away. It’s far too distracting right now.

  The door to Nikki’s apartment is lying open when we get there, but the place is deserted. We take a quick look around, but I already know it’s useless.

  “Her pack’s gone,” Jakob announces, grimly.

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “She’s probably on her way to the courthouse. Let’s leg it back over there.”

  Jakob says nothing, but I can tell by his harrowed expression that he’s not relishing having her along, especially as he volunteered to keep an eye on her. And now I’ll have to hold him to it. Given her current state of mind, she could screw up everything.

  Outside the courthouse, the riders’ horses are lined up along a wooden post, snorting and pawing at the dirt, as if sensing peril in the air. When I look at them, they neigh and turn away, searching for the familiar faces of those they trust. I can’t help but respect the questioning look in their eyes. They follow their instincts; I’ve learned it’s how I operate best too.

  At the far end of the hitching post, I notice a rope tossed in an untidy heap in the dirt. I frown at it, an uneasy feeling worming its way into my crowded thoughts.

  Inside the courthouse, Jerome has already divided the Undergrounders into their assigned groups. Emboldened by Blackbeard’s presence, he barks out rapid-fire orders, and the Undergrounders promptly comply. Apparently, the sight of his right-hand man back on duty has sealed Jerome’s position as leader in their minds. The air is electric and charged. I pan the crowd, searching for Nikki’s face, but there’s no sign of her.