by Kevin George
Artie tried to buck his hips to toss Isaac aside, but the smaller man was surprisingly balanced and remained on top, raining down punches, most of them missing or glancing off the side of Artie’s head and shoulders. But when Isaac finally connected cleanly, the back of Artie’s head bounced off the concrete floor. All strength was ripped from his body and Isaac immediately relaxed. Before Artie had a chance to groan, he felt a pair of strong, frantic hands wrap around his throat and begin to squeeze.
“Shut up. . . shut up. . .” Isaac cried, though the entire bunker was silent except for his own voice and the gurgled chokes escaping Artie’s throat, gurgled chokes that wouldn’t last much longer, gurgled chokes that would finally bring Isaac the silence he’d been craving for months.
Isaac screamed maniacally and let go, rolling off Artie and onto his own back, barely hearing Artie’s frantic coughing as he gasped for air.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispered. “I don’t know what I. . . I don’t know. . .”
Both men lay unmoving for nearly a minute. The bright, popping lights in front of Artie’s vision faded away, replaced by the bunker’s blackness. Confusion struck him worse than fear or pain. He was afraid that speaking might set off Isaac again. Isaac’s crazed muttering had come to an end, but the next time he spoke, his voice sounded different, farther away.
“Hello?”
“I. . . I’m here,” Artie croaked before exploding into a fit of coughing.
“That wasn’t me,” Isaac whispered.
Footsteps echoed somewhere nearby and a single beam of light shined near the bunker’s back wall. When the overhead lights flickered back on, Isaac was already on his feet, standing over Artie, offering him a hand. Artie shook his head and stood on his own. Isaac spotted his weapon and immediately went for it, but Artie got to it first, kicking it under a nearby shelving unit.
“You trying to get us both killed?” Artie asked, massaging his throat.
They headed toward the voice, squinting as the lights overhead continued to flicker, showing not one but several flashlight beams. The silhouettes of several people stood in front of an opened door connected to the rear wall. Artie and Isaac glanced at each other, both of them shrugging in regards to the door that neither knew existed. When they got closer to it, they saw no door handle on the bunker side.
A young man in a white lab coat spotted them first and aimed the beam of his flashlight directly into their faces. The young man lowered an eyebrow and turned his attention to their nearby shelves.
“Don’t mind us,” he said. “We’re just looking for a few things.”
He walked around Artie and Isaac without another word. Several teenage boys and a lone girl waited by the open door, all of them avoiding eye contact. But the older man behind them wore a warm grin and stepped forward, slightly bowing his head.
“Apologies for my son,” the older man said. “Billy has spent his entire life bossing around his siblings and working in his lab, and not enough time speaking to strangers. I hope you’ll forgive our intrusion. We were unaware anyone lived in this bunker, not that we’ve had much cause to visit over the years.”
The old man chuckled to himself, though the teens exchanged confused glances. Artie shook his head.
“We don’t want to live here, but we’ve been stuck for months with no way of getting out,” he explained. He launched into the shortened version of how they came to be here, ending with Old Minkus trapping them below. “I don’t know what he planned to do with us, but as the ramp was rising, he was attacked and killed by one of those things living on the surface.”
The teenage girl gasped and the others turned to the older man, whose brow furrowed as he nodded.
“One of the things created by the Blast, Father?’ one of the teens asked.
“Large and hairy? Vicious?” the old man asked. Artie nodded. “Then yes, I imagine so, but not created from the diluted Blast we’ve been making for them. That version of Blast used to be made where we’re going now.”
“Is that what they will turn us into?” the girl asked.
“Not if we prove ourselves useful,” the old man said.
“Please, tell us who you are,” Isaac said. “Are you from the City Below?”
The old man regarded Isaac closely, taking a small step back as he stared into his eyes. The old man’s resulting smile was almost certainly insincere.
“Forgive me, my name is. . . Will,” the old man said. “And these are my children. We did live in the City Below, but not an area with which you’d be familiar.”
“Where are you going?” Artie asked.
“Far away from there and here,” said one of the teens.
Will shot one of his sons an annoyed glare, instantly quieting the boy.
“He’s right,” Will said. “And we’re traveling as quickly as possible. If you knew what was good for you, you’d do the same. This place might not be far enough away.”
“Far enough from what?” Artie asked.
Before Will answered, his oldest son came rushing back, bumping into Artie without seeming to notice.
“No weapons or fuel,” Billy said, glaring at Artie and Isaac as if they were responsible for denying them supplies. He looked down at a small, electronic tablet in his hand. “Guess these supply lists aren’t as accurate as they once were.”
“How’d you know where to look so quickly?” Isaac asked. “This place is huge.”
Artie tried to see the tablet’s screen and caught a glimpse of a blueprint-like map. Billy quickly turned away.
“We’ve been granted access to technology that you don’t even know exists. And One Corp. was very thorough with their logs,” Billy said before turning to his family. “There’s nothing of consequence here.”
Without another word, Billy and his family headed for the door, shining their flashlights into the darkness beyond. Isaac and Artie hurried after them. Though the connecting tunnel was a fraction of the bunker’s size, Artie felt freer than he had in months. The smaller tunnel connected to a larger one, where several wheeled vehicles were parked, unlike any hovercraft Artie and Isaac had ever seen.
“Where does it go?” Isaac asked, looking into the darkened distance where the vehicles were aimed.
“The Mountain,” the teenage girl said with a mix of excitement and fear, “if the entire tunnel remains intact.”
Artie was more interested in the opposite direction. “And that way’s the City?”
“Not any parts you have access to,” Billy said.
“Please, we’re prisoners in the bunker,” Artie said. “Is there anything you can do to help?”
Billy shook his head, muttering something about not having time for charity cases. He ignored Artie’s pleas but didn’t make it around his father before Will’s hand snatched the young man’s arm. Will nodded a single time to his son. Billy sighed and raised his tablet, his fingers dancing across the screen. Artie tried to see what he was doing, but the images were changing too quickly.
“This’ll just take a second. Hard to get used to these touch screens after using holographic systems for so long,” Billy said. “Ahh. . . okay. . . I’ve broken into the bunker’s security hub and. . . yes, there’s the override system for the ramp controls.” He snickered and turned the screen so the others could see a single button asking for override verification. “Easier than I thought.”
He made a show of pressing the button.
“Don’t gloat,” his father told him before turning to Isaac and Artie. “Can’t take you with us, but at least you won’t be stuck down here if you don’t want.”
A loud squealing echoed from the small tunnel connected to the bunker. Artie and Isaac turned and saw the faint glow of surface light. Artie turned back to thank them and saw the young man whispering something to his father.
“No need to thank us,” Will said, nodding his children toward the vehicles. “I just realized I never asked your names, how rude of me.”
“Isaac. . . Masters,�
�� he said, reluctantly, never looking away from the bunker.
Artie stepped forward and extended his hand to Will. “My name is Artie. . . Arthur. . . Peters.”
At the mention of his last name, Artie felt the older man’s grip tighten. Artie tried to gently pull away, but Will held on.
“Peters?” the old man asked. His children stopped in their tracks, all of them turning to Billy, whose eyes squinted as he looked more closely at Artie. “As in the Peters family in charge of The Fifth?”
“Not any longer,” Artie said.
“None of the powerful families will be around much longer,” Will said, turning to his son.
Billy shrugged as if he’d been asked a question. “Don’t know if there’ll be anyone left there that knows him, but I suppose it can’t hurt to bring him.”
“Bring who?” Artie asked, trying harder to pull away from Will’s vice-like grip. He heard footsteps approaching from behind but didn’t have time to turn before a blast of pain and a flash of white light was replaced by blackness and silence. . .
Isaac heard the thud and Artie’s grunt before he realized there was trouble. He turned to see one of the teenage boys—a club-like weapon in hand—standing behind an unconscious Artie. Isaac rushed toward him and the old man but didn’t take two steps before Billy stepped in front of him. The young man was no physical threat and held no weapon, but he wielded his tablet like it was more dangerous than any club or pole Isaac had ever seen.
“You won’t win,” Billy said, his armed siblings slowly fanning out around Isaac. “If you try to stop us, I will close the ramp forever. Sure, you could head one way or the other down this tunnel, but it’ll be much safer for you on the surface.”
Isaac looked at Artie. He closed his eyes and could still hear clanging, still feel the way it had poked and prodded at his brain for hours and days and weeks on end. He understood why Artie had tried to dig his way out—and had their roles been reversed, he doubted Artie would’ve let these strangers take him without a fight—but the surface light shined through the darkness that had clouded his mind for months.
He thought about Julietta, about when she’d been taken from The Third, about when they’d survived the beast pens, about her escape from the Dome, about the hell she must’ve faced when going back Below. Shame filled Isaac, mostly because he hadn’t tried harder to get back to her. When he glanced at Artie again, he only saw a barrier preventing his return to Julietta.
“You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”
Will shook his head. “We won’t,” the old man said. “I hope not anyone else from where we’re going, but I can’t make any promises for his safety or ours. From the stories my father told me about The Mountain—stories he heard from his father, and his father’s father—it went through a lot of changes—a lot of dangerous changes—during the years before my ancestor’s escape. I don’t know what we’ll find there now, if anything.”
Isaac watched with regret as the teens carried Artie away, storing him in the back of one of their vehicles.
“Then why go there?” Isaac asked.
Will walked toward the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle, while his eldest son did the same toward the second one.
“Because anywhere is better than being in the city once it erupts,” he said before slamming the vehicle door behind him.
Isaac stood in place and watched the vehicles speed away, their tires squealing against the tunnel floor, their lights disappearing into the distance moments later. He looked down one end of the tunnel and then the other, the same darkness filling both ends. The bunker had enough supplies to attempt a tunnel journey to the City Below, but the strange family’s warnings stuck in his mind. He didn’t know what they’d meant about secret sections of the city or the possibility of it erupting, nor did he know anything about traversing tunnels. He chuckled at the thought of feeling more comfortable traveling Above than Below.
He hurried back to the bunker, squinting as his eyes readjusted to natural lights, shivering as a cool breeze blew from atop the ramp. He inhaled fresh air for the first time in months. The thought of returning to Julietta made him want to sprint, but he forced himself to slow down, knowing he had a long, dangerous journey in front of him.
On a shelf near the ramp were two bags packed with the needed supplies to return to the Dome, as well as two sets of clothing and a pair of pelts. Artie and Isaac had prepared them the first day they’d set foot in the bunker. As Isaac pulled on layer after layer, he tried not to look at the second pile. Once he donned his pelt, pulled its hood over his head and slipped his arms through the bag’s straps, he marched up the ramp without looking back.
It wasn’t until he took his first crunching step in the snow that he thought about Old Minkus and what had happened to him. Panicked, Isaac looked from side to side, his vision inundated with bright whiteness, momentarily blinding him. It didn’t help that snow and freezing wind blew into his eyes, filling them with tears, blurring his vision until he blinked them away. He saw no sign of movement, no sign of the beast; a glance at the ground nearby showed no sign of Old Minkus’s body, either.
The dilapidated ISU was covered in snow, nearly unrecognizable from other snowy mounds among the white landscape. Isaac considered seeing what was inside but hated the idea of being indoors again so soon. He turned in a slow circle until he gained his bearings enough to head in the general direction of the Dome. He didn’t know what he would find there—if the teens would still be in charge, if they’d still be on the lookout for him—but hoped for the miracle he’d need to find his way back to Julietta in the City Below.
Isaac started walking across the snow, focusing on taking step after step, his legs sinking all the way to his knees, realizing he’d forgotten how tiring it was to walk this way. Thinking of Julietta gave him the strength to keep pushing, but it wasn’t long before he had to stop to take a break. He was out of breath, but inhaling too deeply caused his lungs to burn so coldly that he exploded in coughing. When he glanced back, he was disheartened to see the ISU still in sight.
“Can’t s. . . stop m. . . m. . . moving,” he told himself.
He no sooner took two more steps when the ground shook. Beast, Isaac thought first, spinning so suddenly that he lost his balance and face-planted into the snow. He struggled to stand, his arms sinking deeper into the snow each time he tried to brace himself. Certain the beast would pounce at any moment, he was surprised to see the surrounding lands devoid of life. He was also surprised that the shaking continued, causing the smooth surface of snow to splinter as far as he could see.
The old man’s strange warning—whatever it actually meant—was apparently coming true already. Isaac had only a moment to follow common sense and turn in the opposite direction, or keep pushing toward danger and the distant possibility of seeing Julietta again.
He kept pushing forward.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Is now the time we join in?” Oliver yelled.
Aytyn kept his back to Oliver and Emma, his head turning from side to side, his weapon raised and ready to defend against any One guard that got too close. None were in range, but it wouldn’t be long until they were. Several rows of Third and Fifth fighters still separated them from the enemy, but every second that passed led to more slaughter. Oliver had no doubt his remaining people would die within minutes. When Aytyn didn’t answer—possibly due to the deafening sounds of battle—Oliver started forward on his own, only to be pulled back by Emma.
She looked at him and shook her head, the same reaction he’d given her when she’d tried pushing into the fight. Together, they stepped back and clanged against The Fourth’s blast door.
“Not yet,” Aytyn finally called back, “Your Illustriousness.”
Oliver shook his head at the absurdity of such a title but quickly turned to the side, where a trio of One guards had broken through the ranks and rushed in their direction. Aytyn cut them off, but a band of Fifthers got to them first, taking do
wn the three guards while suffering losses of their own. Oliver caught sight of Paige rushing through the fighters, on her way to one of the downed men. Oliver shook his head and started in her direction but forgot that Emma was still clutching his arm.
“Let her do her job!” Emma called out over the noise. “That’s what she’s here for!”
Oliver shook his head. Panicked, he tried to pull free, dragging Emma closer to danger in the process. He didn’t make it far before Aytyn rushed over to him, turning his back to the battle.
“Please, Queen Emma is right,” the lead guardsman said. “It’s imperative that the new royal couple—”
The tip of a spear suddenly exploded out of Aytyn’s throat, spraying Oliver and Emma with his blood. Aytyn’s eyes went wide yet his mouth kept moving, a bloody gurgle coming out instead of words. When he looked down at the spear sticking out of him, he seemed to realize what happened. Aytyn spun quickly—the hilt of the spear nudging several of his fellow fighters—and rushed through the crowd, each step clumsier than the last, still managing the strength to hold his weapon upright and strike down the nearest One guard. But it wasn’t long before he finally collapsed. Oliver watched helplessly as another One guard grabbed the spear in Aytyn’s throat, twisted it and yanked it out.
With Aytyn dead, Oliver stepped in front of Emma, who shook her head and sidled up beside him.
“We’re in this together,” she insisted.
Oliver knew it wouldn’t matter either way. The chaos continued as if in slow motion. Several times, Oliver spotted an enemy he thought would reach them, only for another Thirder or Fifther to intercept him first. When a larger group of Ones surged forward and eliminated the final resistance, Oliver readied his spear, prepared to take down as many enemies as he could before they skewered him.
“Protect the king and queen! Protect the Lord and Jonas!” a familiar voice cried from farther down the tunnel, followed by the echoing of dozens of footsteps.
The approaching One guards recoiled several steps and watched a large squadron of Fifthers rushing toward them. Though Oliver knew who the voice belonged to, he still craned his neck to look for the man leading his potential rescuers. Didn’t take him long to gather more troops and convince them to fight, Oliver thought, pleased with himself for showing mercy and the strength to forgive.