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

by Hinkens, Norma

  Blackbeard slides his gaze in my direction and tilts his head. It’s the most unprompted attention he’s ever directed my way, so I take it as a sign of acceptance, at last.

  “The Undergrounders are ready when you are,” Jerome says. “Do you want to say a few words before we leave?”

  I walk to the front of the room and raise a hand for silence. A ripple of anticipation runs through the crowd. I gaze out at their animated faces with a heavy heart, and snatch a quick breath before I begin. “Tonight we march to end the madness that has become our world. We don’t march to war, because we’re already at war. The Sweepers have set themselves up above all others, above the weak, and above the defenseless. Don’t be afraid of them. Instead, be brave for your fellow Undergrounders, for future generations who deserve to be born free instead of generated under the glare of laboratory lights.”

  I pause and look around the room. Every eye is fixed on me, waiting for me to continue.

  “We must see the Sweepers for who they are—monsters who will continue to spill innocent blood and mutilate lives if we don’t destroy them. Give your all, no matter the odds. We will not surrender.”

  I pause and survey the room once more. For a moment I wonder if I have reached them. They look fixedly forward, their expressions unyielding. Then the room erupts. Boots stamp in time, shouts ring out around me, and bursts of applause echo from one end of the meeting room to the other.

  I turn to Jerome and give a curt nod. “They’re ready.”

  Undergrounders spill down the courtyard steps into the gathering shadows. It’s almost eleven o’clock. Mosquitos flit by, making fast landings, siphoning off blood that might well be spilled before the night is done. Tucker would be snapping at them with glee if he were here. I wish more than anything, that I could bring him, but I almost lost him once in the Craniopolis, and I can’t take that chance again.

  We swarm toward the main entry, adrenalin pumping through our veins. Jerome yells up at the guards to open the container gate.

  “But the rider isn’t back yet,” one of them calls down from the watchtower.

  “What rider?” Jerome shouts.

  The guard throws a wary glance at us.

  A creeping realization that something is wrong hushes the group.

  “The one you sent out with a message for The Ghost,” he says.

  32

  A rod of fear shoots up my spine. My eyes lock with Jakob’s and I see my own terror reflected there.

  “Who was the rider?” Jerome demands.

  The guard shifts uncomfortably. “Couldn’t say for sure with the cowboy hat and bandana over her face. Said you gave her an urgent message to take to the Rogues.”

  My brain pounds against my skull. I turn and elbow my way through the crowd of Undergrounders to the riders at the back.

  “Wait for me!” Jakob says, pushing through after me.

  “Jody!” I yell to her. “Are all the riders accounted for?”

  She reins in her horse and trots over to us. “The riders are all here, but one of the horses is missing.”

  I turn to Jakob, my eyes sweeping his for reassurance. “You don’t really think …”

  He reaches for my wrists and pulls me close. “It could have been her. You know she’s not in her right mind.”

  “Neither is The Ghost,” I say, choking out the words. I shrink back from the wary looks of the Undergrounders and riders around us. For their sakes, as much as for Owen's, I need to find Nikki before anything happens to her. Hope is the only thing that will carry us through the next few days, and they need to see I can deliver on it.

  “I think it was Nikki who stole the horse,” I say to Jody. “Can you send a rider ahead to see if you can catch her?”

  Jody gives a grim nod. “I’ll send Ida out as soon as the gate’s been opened.”

  I squeeze out a grateful smile, then turn and push my way back through the sea of Undergrounders with Jakob. Jerome is deep in conversation with Trout and Blackbeard. He looks up and pulls his brows together questioningly.

  “I think it was Nikki,” I say in a grim tone. “As soon as we open the gate Ida will gallop ahead and try and catch her before the Rogues intercept her.”

  Jerome blinks, a grave expression on his face. We both know the chances of Ida reaching Nikki first are slim, but it’s all we can do. He turns and signals to the guards in the watchtower. One of them waves a gloved hand in acknowledgement. My heartbeat races as I watch them crank the pulleys. There’s no turning back now.

  The container gates slowly creak open in front of me, and I swallow back my trepidation as the yawning wasteland outside the city comes into view once more. I take a quick breath, and wave the Undergrounders forward. My legs feel like lead beneath me, but I force them to pump.

  Jerome and Blackbeard march to my right, carrying on a low conversation with the Undergrounders directly behind them. Trout looks preoccupied, brows pulled tight together. On my left, Jakob pans our surroundings for any sign of Nikki, a resolute expression carved into his pale face.

  Behind me the beat of the horses’ hooves lends a false comfort to my ears, as if these giant beasts could rise up and trample the Rogues if need be. In reality, I know the Rogues will mow them down in a hail of bullets if things go awry. The weight of responsibility for these innocent beasts is almost as hard to bear as that of the lives of the Undergrounders around me. I only hope the hostages we’re bringing with us will be enough to convince The Ghost to join forces with us.

  It’s dark out now, and thick clouds veil what little light the pale moon offers. As we tread closer to the tree line, my ears pick up on the distant night chatter of the forest; crickets and bullfrogs jockeying for position like ground troops, the hoots of winged predators flying recon missions above them. In my mind, I rehearse a string of different introductions to The Ghost, none of which paint a satisfying picture of me as the gutsy leader of a valiant Council of Undergrounders. Truth is, it’s not me who’ll sway him, it’s what I have that he wants. And I’m going all in on that bet. Still, I can’t help wishing Sven were right by my side, instead of behind—

  I freeze, one foot in mid-air at a rustling sound up ahead. Three Rogues appear like specters from the forest, shocking me out of my reverie. They stand in our path like a ghostly trinity, a pitchfork of doom pointed directly at us. A cold draft crawls up my neck. For several long minutes, no one moves. Then, they begin walking toward us, long, easy strides—too casual a gait to be trusted. I finger my weapon for reassurance and throw a quick glance around the brush, looking for the rest of the Rogues. Why don’t they show themselves? I’m more rattled by three lone figures strolling nonchalantly toward us than if a pack of Rogues were bearing down on us. It doesn’t make sense. And that’s a red flag.

  Jerome shines a beam over their faces. I immediately recognize Blade on the left, and a shudder runs through me at the cruel curl of his lip. I’ve never seen the Rogue on the right before, but as soon as I set eyes on the figure in the center I know without a doubt I’m looking at the man they call The Ghost.

  My heart thumps. I mouth a frantic pep talk to myself and square my shoulders as the three Rogues draws closer. Tall and lean, The Ghost is extraordinarily good-looking, electrifying almost—except for his eyes, vacant halos staring out from an empty soul. I swallow hard. He has the eyes of a man who has lost his way so long ago, he no longer feels anything. I fear Rummy was telling the truth.

  I shiver when he comes to a halt in front of me, the ice water in his veins chilling my core. He takes a sudden, deep breath that rumbles in the back of his nose, like a beast grunting contempt at my presence. A bored smile briefly dissects his face before he turns his attention to Jerome. He scans his rippled skin carefully, his face expressionless. “Cutting it a little close to our deadline, aren’t you?” he says, his gravelly voice a paralyzing mixture of charm and reproof.

  “City business to attend to,” Jerome replies, gripping the hand The Ghost shoots out to him.


  “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” The Ghost says, turning to me.

  I open my mouth, and then close it again. I don’t want to sound like I’m defending myself. Until we know where we stand, and what he wants from us, we need to keep our guard up. If Rummy was right about The Ghost being a psychopath, then his smooth demeanor is merely a manipulative cloak to lull his victims with before he strikes.

  “I don’t like to be rushed,” I reply, staring back at him defiantly.

  His features harden over like steel. “I’m glad we understand each other so well.” His eyes beam around the group and light on Rummy. He lifts one brow in mock greeting, but I catch the sliver of hatred that ripples beneath his stony expression. He walks over and takes Rummy’s face between both hands, squeezing it in a phony show of camaraderie. A contemptuous smile leaks over The Ghost’s inked features. I picture Rummy’s face smashed like a post-Halloween pumpkin. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I trade a loaded look with Trout, but before we can intervene, Rummy backs up a step and twists his head out of The Ghost’s hands.

  A sneer flicks across The Ghost’s lips, and then he turns and walks back to me again. His crushing hand grips me by the shoulder. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Where … is … he?”

  My breath rattles in my throat. “Who?” I ask.

  The Ghost’s eyelids close to half-mast. He taps his fingers on my shoulder, studying me for a moment. “The bootlegged freak. Our ticket to the kingdom.”

  “Sook’s back there.” I gesture behind me at Sven, standing head and shoulders above everyone else. “With the clone.”

  The Ghost knots his brow and peers at Sven more closely. “Military?”

  I give a reluctant nod. Blade must have told him everything.

  The Ghost throws me a conspiratorial look. “Engineered to kill. We can put him to good use.”

  I tighten my jaw. “He’s a free man, like any other Undergrounder or Rogue who fights with us.”

  He snorts. “None of us are free. That’s why you’re here. You want to change the world, like every other dreamer before you.” The Ghost cracks his knuckles. “Follow me.”

  Blade and the third Rogue turn heel and fall in on either side of him, their M-16s slung casually over their shoulders.

  Jerome signals to the Undergrounders behind us that we’re moving. “At least The Ghost’s willing to talk to us,” he says. “So far, so good.”

  “Let’s hope that’s what this means,” Trout adds, a perturbed look on his face.

  I do a quick gut check as we march into the deepening dusk. On the surface, our first encounter with The Ghost has gone much more smoothly than I thought it would. Too smoothly. I can’t believe he came out to meet us with only two of his men in tow—almost as if he wanted to underline the fact that we don’t even register as a threat.

  “What do you all make of him?” Jakob asks in a low voice.

  “He’s clever, and gutsy—showing up with only Blade and one other guy,” Trout replies, echoing my own assessment.

  Jerome grunts. “Probably has a marksman behind every other tree out there.”

  I steal a quick glance around the pines and tangled undergrowth. Jerome could be right. After all, The Ghost trusts no one.

  We walk about a mile in total to the Rogues’ camp, a smattering of threadbare tents and disbanded packs nestled in a hollow between two copses of trees. My eyes skim over the shaved heads clustered around several crackling campfires. The tantalizing smell of rabbit stew fills my nostrils.

  The Ghost motions to us to sit down. “We expected you earlier.” He flashes a cold smile. “I prefer to negotiate over a meal.”

  Jerome slides me a wary glance, then sinks down on a mossy bank nearby. Trout, Jakob, and I throw off our packs and follow suit. A mustached Rogue comes over and plants a pot of stew and a large jug of water on the ground between us. He drops several ladles into the pot and walks off without a word of greeting.

  “Eat!” The Ghost gestures to the food. His lips are carved into a stiff half-moon smile, but his eyes radiate a disturbing chill, as if something’s brooding below the surface.

  Trout reaches for the pot of stew and ladles out a generous helping for himself.

  The Ghost sits down and leans back, whistling a vaguely familiar tune.

  “Before we get down to business,” I say, frowning at him, “did you, or any of your men, see a rider this evening?”

  The whistling fades to silence. The Ghost throws me an irritated look, rubs his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you ask?”

  “We’re missing someone.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “How can you be missing someone? You only left the city a couple of hours ago.”

  “She left ahead of us without telling anyone,” Jakob interjects.

  The Ghost gets to his feet and paces back and forth. “So we have a defector at large, who answers to no one, and endangers our position.”

  Jakob shoots me a helpless look. I blow out a shallow breath. We need to find Nikki, and soon, but if The Ghost thinks she’s a defector, he might order his men to eliminate the problem. “She’s not a defector. Nikki’s sick,” I say. “She shouldn’t even be on this mission. But she’s desperate to get to the Craniopolis. Someone she loves was extracted.”

  I flinch when The Ghost lands a savage steel-toed kick at the pot of stew. I let out a yelp as a few drops of hot liquid splatter over me. I stumble backward and stare at him, wide-eyed. His thin face is flushed and buckled with rage, hard ridges pulsing in his tattooed neck. “People who love endanger others with their neediness.” He snaps his neck straight and stares at me. “Weakness at its worst.”

  His flashing eyes knife me with contempt, but I force myself to stare him down. “Love can also give us strength,” I say. “It makes us hunger all the more for freedom.”

  The Ghost curls his fingers into his fists and turns aside, as though wrestling with some emotion. When he looks up again, the monster has departed.

  “Speaking of freedom,” he says, “it’s time we went over the plan to take the Craniopolis.” He frowns and throws a quick look around the camp. “Bring the clone here,” he says to one of his men. He sits back down and stares fixedly at me.

  My skin crawls under his scrutiny. I make a point of ignoring him and exchange a few insipid remarks with Trout and Jerome until Sven appears. A twisted smile appears on The Ghost’s lips when Sven squeezes into a spot beside me. I run my finger along the inside of my collar, increasingly uncomfortable under The Ghost’s relentless scrutiny.

  He clicks his teeth together and surveys us with an air of satisfaction. “Now that we’re all here,” he says, “let’s go over how we execute this attack you’ve been planning.”

  Jerome leans forward. “Infiltration is not a problem. Sven and I have contacts on the inside.”

  Sven nods in affirmation.

  A slash of a smile appears on The Ghost’s face. “So the clone just rings the doorbell and they let him back in?”

  I throw him a scathing look.

  “We’ll use the tunnel I escaped through,” Jerome says. “The Schutz Clones filled it back in, but it’s a superficial seal, couple of feet of dirt, easy enough to dig out.”

  “Guards?” The Ghost says, drumming his fingers on his knee.

  “Two Schutz Clones stationed at the entrance to the Biotic Center,” Sven replies. “My men on the inside will create a diversion to distract them, and then take them down and don their uniforms. That will buy the rest of the clones enough time to open up the tunnel.”

  The Ghost nods. “And then we move into position.”

  “That’s phase two,” I say, throwing a glance Jerome’s way. “Phase one is evacuating the deviations.”

  The Ghost’s face contorts in an expression of disgust. “There is only one phase, war. There will be no evacuations. Anyone who wants to come out with us, fights with us.”

  “I’m spearheading this mission,
” I say. “I decide who fights.”

  The Ghost throws back his head and lets out a biting laugh. When he straightens back up, his expression is a mask of control. “You came to me for help, not the other way around, so here’s how this is going down. The clone and the deviation will take us to the Craniopolis. The Rogues will lead the attack. And you will order the Undergrounders to fight under my command.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” I say.

  The Ghost gets to his feet, smiling even as the light leaves his eyes. “I think you will. That is, if you ever want to see your crazy cowgirl again.”

  33

  The breath leaves my lungs.

  I jack-knife to my feet. “You do have Nikki.”

  An almost imperceptible twitch tugs at The Ghost’s lips. His eyes settle on the remnants of stew splattered between us. “Shame,” he says, kicking the pot to one side. “That was our last hot meal for a while.” He starts to walk away, and then turns back around. “Tell the Undergrounders we leave in ten minutes, under my command.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, he slips between a wall of armed Rogues who suddenly materialize around us. Sven rises to his feet and curls his hands into fists, eying them warily.

  I stand frozen in place, each breath a harsh tug as it slowly dawns on me that I’ve been played for a fool.

  Jerome punches his fist on the stump he’s sitting on. “All that junk about Nikki endangering our position, he was toying with us the whole time.”

  “Do you really think he has her?” Jakob asks.

  “That’s just it,” I groan. “It doesn’t matter. He’s got us either way. He knows we won’t take a chance on anything happening to her.”