He pulls off his cap and turns his head around.
I gasp. There’s an oozing wound on the back of his skull and a lump fast approaching the size of an egg. “How did that happen?” I ask.
“I must have tripped or something,” Jakob says, doubtfully. “Although—”
He looks up as The Ghost strides back into view.
A flicker of suspicion goes through me. Did The Ghost really find Jakob passed out, or is there more to the story?
“All good?” The Ghost asks Jakob, with a patronizing hike of his brows.
“Uh, yeah, thanks for your help,” Jakob replies, staring at The Ghost like he’s someone he can’t quite place.
“Glad I came by when I did,” The Ghost replies, flashing a steely smile.
Trout throws me one of his famous something-ain’t-adding-up looks.
I share his hunch, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why The Ghost would deliberately set a fire and risk his own life in the process. And why would he help Jakob if he was trying to kill us? There isn’t time now to get to the bottom of what he’s up to. I’ll just have to keep an even closer eye on him.
“Are all the Rogues accounted for?” I ask, turning to him.
The Ghost cracks his knuckles. “Three missing, presumed dead.”
“What do you want to do?” Jerome asks. “Keep searching for them?”
The Ghost smiles, a barely noticeable upward tug of his lips. “We leave them.”
Jerome looks at me and shrugs. I reach for my pack, a growing suspicion niggling at me that something foul is afoot. Rummy warned me The Ghost was a psychopath, but what is he really capable of?
We hike east for several hours before breaking to make camp in a sheltered copse of pines. Trout and Jerome head out with a hunting party, while I make Jakob as comfortable as I can. “Get some rest,” I say. “I’ll wake you when the food is ready.
He curls up on his side, careful not to put any pressure on the back of his head. His lips part as he drifts toward sleep. I lean back against a tree trunk, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. All of a sudden Jakob jackknifes up, a startled expression on his face. He tugs at my sleeve, pulls me closer. “I remember now … I found something,” he whispers.
I straighten up and look at him, befuddled. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes gleam with urgency. “I found a glass bottle, stuffed with a rag. I reached for it, and that’s the last thing I remember.”
My heart races. “So it was arson!”
Jakob stares at me wide-eyed. “And I didn’t trip either. Someone came from behind and whacked me on the back of the head.”
The foreboding feeling that’s been hanging over me locks around my chest so tightly I can barely breathe. Someone didn’t want Jakob finding that bottle. But who? The Ghost? He’s definitely hiding something. It’s time to find out what.
“Stay here,” I say to Jakob. “I’ll be right back.”
I stride across to the other side of the camp where the Rogues are sprawled out on a grassy bank. Blade scowls up at me from a card game, the piercing above his brow winking an ominous note in the early morning sun. The Ghost is seated on a lichen-covered log, ankles crossed, chewing on a piece of jerky. I march straight up to him. “It was you that slugged Jakob on the back of the head, wasn’t it? You knocked him out so he couldn’t—”
I stagger backward, gasping in vain for a breath as The Ghost’s fist wraps around my throat. My windpipe feels as if it’s curled up into a knot so tight not even a molecule of air can get through. My limbs flop and twitch as The Ghost drags me away from the group of Rogues and behind a clump of pines. He flattens me against a tree trunk and then releases me. I hunch over and heave several deep breaths. When my gasps subside, I chance a glance at him, steeling myself for a blow from his fist. Instead, he sticks his face up close to mine.
“You listen good, Half Pint. I saved your lover boy’s life. I found him face down in the mulch, and I dragged him back here with my own two hands.”
“I don’t believe you. Who else would have done something like that to him?”
The Ghost throws a quick glance over his shoulder. “We were being followed.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “By who?”
The Ghost scowls. “Slicers, a rival gang from the reeducation camp. We split with them in the wilderness after one of them got knifed. They must have tracked us to the city and been following us ever since. They killed three of my men. I found the bodies.”
I let his words sink in for a minute. “So they set the fire?”
The Ghost gives a distracted nod as he paces back and forth. “They weren’t expecting us to be traveling with Undergrounders. They couldn’t fight us all, so they resorted to other tactics.”
“Where are they now?”
“Headed north. Probably think we’re coming for them.” The Ghost kicks at a pile of half-mulched leaves. “Retribution will have to wait. For now, we keep moving toward the Craniopolis.”
I sink down and digest this information. “Maybe they’d be willing to join forces with us if they knew what we were planning.”
The Ghost lifts his eyes and pins a steely gaze on me. “They killed my men. Whatever way this fight with the Sweepers ends, I go out with the Slicers as enemies, not friends.”
I shift uncomfortably. “We need to tell the others what happened.”
The Ghost pulls his brows tight, an inked pyramid forming between his eyes. “You don’t want to do that. If my men get wind it was Slicers set that fire, they’ll abandon the mission and go after them.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “This has to end sometime. There aren’t enough of us left to keep hunting each other down.”
The Ghost grunts. “As long as there’s territory, there will be war.”
“No,” I say, “when this ends, everyone will swear allegiance to an elected Council of Survivors.”
“Everyone?” The Ghost smirks, then turns away and walks off humming.
I bury my face in my hands and let out a shuddering sigh. I can’t fool myself any longer. If we defeat the Sweepers, I already have my next fight lined up.
After a few minutes, I get to my feet and make my way back across the camp to Jakob. The hunting party has returned and the welcome smell of roasting meat fills my nostrils.
“Are you okay?” Jakob asks, his eyes clouding over with concern.
I throw a quick glance around to make sure no one can overhear us, and then fill him in on everything. “The Ghost swears he found you face down in the dirt,” I say. “If he’s telling the truth, then it was Slicers who knocked you out and left you to burn, and killed the missing Rogues.”
“It’s odd that The Ghost’s the only one saw the bodies,” Jakob says, keeping his voice low.
I furrow my brow. “I wondered about that too.”
Jakob touches the back of his head gingerly. “We don’t have any choice but to take his word for it.”
There’s a beat of silence between us, and then Jakob adds. “We should warn the Undergrounders to watch their backs, just the same.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’ll have Jerome and Trout spread the word.”
I eat my fill of venison and fall into a deep sleep. When I wake, cold and aching, the forest is flush with the ambient light of dawn, and Trout and Jakob are already packing up our gear.
“Thought you were never gonna wake up,” Trout says.
I sit up, still stupid with sleep, and stretch out my locked-up joints.
Jakob reaches out a hand and pulls me to my feet. “Sven reckons we’ll reach the Craniopolis by early afternoon,” he says.
I furrow my brow. “There’s no going back after that.”
A dark expression settles on Trout’s face. “There’s nothing to go back to unless we destroy the Sweepers.” He shoulders his pack and walks over to join Jerome and Sven at the front of the group.
“How’s your head?” I as
k Jakob.
“Not bad, if I don’t touch it.” He gives a spaghetti-thin smile.
I can tell he’s in pain but doesn’t want to show it. He knows I have enough to worry about already.
We get back on the trail and make steady progress for the next few hours, careful to stay deep in the forest to avoid detection by any Hovermedes as we gradually draw nearer to the Craniopolis. Our footsteps crunch over piles of desiccated pinecones that crack like dried-out skin, keeping us in a constant state of hyper vigilance. I keep a close eye on Jakob, unnerved by the skim milk cast to his face. His lips look almost bloody in contrast. A wave of relief rolls over me when Sven finally points to a fork in the trail. “We’re about two miles from the tunnel from here,” he says.
“How are you planning on contacting the clones inside?” I ask.
“I’ll have to set up a signal. I haven’t worked that part out yet.”
I let out a soft sigh. “I think Mason already did.”
Sven frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re not far from where our Hovermedes went down. Mason buried a radio in a hollowed-out tree nearby.”
Sven stares at me, eyes aglow. “Can you find it again?”
“I think so. We need to take the left fork, away from the Craniopolis.”
“If you can lead me there, it could save us hours trying to set up a signal.”
“I remember it pretty well,” I say. “Tucker and I hid from the Sweepers in that tree.”
I pass the word back to the others to break formation and wait for us to return.
My heart races as Sven and I hoof it along the trail, west of the Craniopolis. In my mind I can see the exact spot where the Hovermedes went down in a forest of ferns, topping pine trees in its path, ripping the brush asunder. But now under the pressure of having to find the location again, I’m doubting my instincts. And having Sven at my side is more than just a tad distracting. I anxiously scan the foliage on either side as we push farther along the trail.
“Sure you got this?” Sven asks, throwing me a dubious look.
I jut my chin out. “Of course.”
Just when I’m about to admit I’m lost, I spot the site up ahead where the Hovermedes crashed and sliced a path through the undergrowth. “Quick!” I say. “It’s up here!” I break into a run through the flattened brush and a moment later pull up short. The Hovermedes is gone. Sven comes alongside me.
“The ship’s gone,” I say.
Sven tightens his lips. “If the Sweepers found the Hovermedes, there’s a chance they followed your trail and found the radio too. We’ll need to be careful in case they booby trapped it.”
When we reach the tree, Sven motions to me to stay under cover. He carefully checks the area around the tree for hidden wires, then pulls out a short shovel from his pack.
I peer out from beneath a sweeping curtain of ferns and watch as he digs. My heart vibrates inside my chest. I tense at every shovelful, hoping to see the radio, but each time he tosses the dirt aside, bends back down and attacks the ground with greater ferocity.
After several minutes of methodical digging, he reaches down and pries something free. He stands up stiffly and brushes the dirt from a rectangular metal container. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder and then hurries over to the ferns and crawls in beside me.
“That’s it,” I say, excitedly. My eyes sting with sudden tears of gratitude. Mason’s foresight is helping me even beyond the grave.
“Let’s see if it’s still intact,” Sven says, easing the tightly wedged lid off the box. He reaches inside and carefully pulls out an army green radio in a camouflage sleeve. “Score one. Now let’s see if this baby works.”
I watch with bated breath as he presses some buttons and adjusts a couple of knobs, then picks up the receiver.
“Wildcard to central, do you copy me?”
The line crackles, followed by a thready fluting sound, and then a voice replies “I read you Wildcard. Identify.”
“Sven, placement 041.”
The thready fluting sound resumes. Just when I figure we’ve lost central, the muffled voice comes back on. “We thought you were dead.”
Sven takes a silent breath and grips the receiver tighter. “Negative. We are outside the Craniopolis. Eliminate guards and initiate tunnel clearance. Time to entry is ninety minutes.”
The crackling resumes briefly then fizzles out.
“Copy that, central?” Sven asks. His forehead creases into a frown. “Central, do you read me?”
Static erupts, and then the line goes dead.
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Sven frantically twists several knobs, but the radio stays cold. “I’ve lost them,” he says, his voice tense. “Must be a short or a broken fuse wire.”
“Do you think they heard you before it cut out?” I ask.
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t say for sure. What do you want to do?”
“I say we go in. If they did hear you, they’ll be waiting for us. We can’t leave them hanging, not if they’ve already taken out the guards.”
Sven rubs his hand across his jaw. “Might be best not to tell the Undergrounders the radio cut out before we got confirmation.”
I shake my head. “They deserve the truth. It’s their lives on the line. They need to know where they stand.”
Sven’s strained expression softens. “Don’t we all?” His amber eyes fix me with a gaze that sends a tingle of longing down my spine. He reaches over and places his hand on mine. My heart flutters in my chest at the weight and pulsing warmth of it. He pulls me gently toward him, a searing look of longing in his eyes. “Without an expiration date, you … I—”
“Don’t, Sven! Not now!”
We linger a moment too long, and then without a word, we pull apart and reach for our packs. “Let’s do this,” Sven says, avoiding my eyes.
When we get back to the fork in the trail that leads to the Craniopolis, I gather everyone around and summarize our predicament. “Bottom line is we can’t be sure Sven’s contact heard the order to clear the tunnel.”
“You’re telling us we won’t know if the tunnel’s been opened back up until we crawl through to the very end?” Blade says, narrowing his eyes at me.
The Ghost elbows him aside. “What exactly did your contact hear before the radio cut out?”
“They at least know I’m alive,” Sven says. “Even if they didn’t hear my order, there’s a good chance they’ll clear the tunnel anyway.”
“So it’s gone from a plan to a chance?” The Ghost traces his long fingers across his tattooed forehead. “Do you even know who you talked to? What if it was Sweepers on the radio?”
Sven scowls at him. “The radio is hidden in the Biotik Sektor. The Sweepers don’t even know it exists.”
“We’re wasting time arguing,” Jerome says. “Let’s take a vote. We either go in now, or try to fix the radio and reestablish contact.”
“You really wanna give them that option?” The Ghost asks, gesturing at the faces behind us. “What if half of them vote No? It’ll be a dogfight.”
“We could cast lots,” Jakob offers.
The Ghost frowns “Cast lots?”
Jakob reaches down and picks up a flat stone. “It’s a way of reaching a decision without bickering about it. The Septites consider it a divine sign.” He takes out his knife and scratches something on one side of the stone. “This “X” means we go in.”
The group trades uncertain glances. Jakob throws a questioning look my way and I shrug my consent. It’s better than wasting time voting. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and watch as Jakob tosses the stone up in the air. It lands with a dull thud in a pile of half-mulched leaves.
Trout kneels down and gently brushes aside a leaf. He raises his head. “It’s a go,” he says, his tone heavy.
I look around hesitantly, but no one objects to the sign we’ve been given. It seems an odd way for God to make decisions, but I don’t know that a pr
ayer for wisdom would have changed the outcome. Big Ed’s the only one with a direct connection. We gather our packs in silence and fall into formation.
Twenty minutes into the hike, the ground becomes rockier. Below us a boulder-strewn lake twinkles beneath the morning sun. Jakob walks by my side, eyes forward. He’s barely spoken a word since we cast the lots.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
He hooks his thumbs into the straps on his pack and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m wondering if the world will ever be a sane place.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and contemplate the question. “Eliminating the Sweepers would go a long way to making that a reality.”
Jakob gives a thread-thin smile. “But we can never eliminate the darkness.”
I pull my brows together. “But we’re supposed to try, isn’t that what the lots revealed?”
A shudder runs through him. “It was wrong of me to ask for a sign to sanction violence.”
I grab his elbow and spin him around to face me. “We’re saving lives, Jakob. You need to believe in what we’re doing. I need you to be a player. If you’re not willing to take up arms when it counts, you’ll be a liability once we reach the Craniopolis.”
He turns and locks eyes with me. “I know. That’s why I’m not going in with you.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sorry, Derry. I can’t be a part of this.”
I stare at him, jaw askew. I feel as if he’s slapped me in the face. I really believed Jakob would rally and fight with us in the end, if only for my sake. But now when I need him most, he’s abandoning me. I grip my gun tightly to still my trembling fingers. “A lot more innocent people will die if we stand down now.”
“Violence is not the only way to take down the Craniopolis,” Jakob says.
“What alternative do we have?”
He turns to me, his eyes gleaming. “Remember when we played chess in the bunker? The capture of one piece ends in checkmate.”
“You mean Lyong?” I shake my head. “We could never capture him.”
Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) Page 25