Captives (23 page)

“Hey!” A man in a gray jumpsuit looked down from the wall, standing above the dam. “You can’t be in there, shell!”

Levi turned and ran. He made it three steps before he slipped and fell onto his side, sliding down the canal faster than he wanted to go. He turned his head away from the water and tried to stop himself. Something sharp snagged his hand through his glove, and he cradled his palm against his chest. He managed to slow himself to a stop before reaching the six-foot pipe. He pushed himself up, his legs shaky. A blaring siren brought his attention to a flash of sunlight gleaming off the windshield of a Jeep cruising along the top of the outer wall, approaching from the west.

With a deep breath, Levi inched toward the six-foot pipe on the inner wall. About three yards before he reached the opening, bullets plopped into the water around him like stones skipping on the surface of a lake. His careful steps became lunges. Bullets cracked against the inside wall, shattering tiny dents into the concrete. Panicked, Levi dove into the pipe, twisting so that he landed on his side, lifting his head as he skidded through the water. The gunfire ceased.

He scrambled up, dripping, and started down the tunnel, slipping twice. His movement upset a swallow, which fluttered toward him. He crouched to let it pass.

The water was only inches deep, spanning a couple of feet in the bottom of the pipe. The only light in the tunnel was the sunlight at the entrance, now twenty yards behind. He swung off his pack and
fumbled for his solar lantern, only to discover the bulb had broken in his fall. Stifling a groan, he dug for a crank flashlight. The beam lit little of his surroundings, but the light was better than nothing. Squaring his shoulders, Levi headed deeper into the tunnel.

The storm drain was concrete on the bottom half and rusted corrugated steel pipe on the top. He slipped again, catching himself just before he took another bath.

Maybe the chest waders weren’t as ingenious as he’d first thought.

He decided to avoid the water by walking on the dry sides of the pipe, which offered better footholds but burned his leg muscles. He moved carefully, shining his flashlight at the water. Now that he wasn’t kicking it up, he could see it was cloudy brown with bits of trash and the occasional beetle. Stripes of rust on the pipe’s sides marked past higher waterlines. Good thing he wasn’t trying this after a heavy rainstorm.

After a while, he came to a square opening where three new pipes shot off in different directions. All were smaller than the one he stood in—two four-foot pipes and one two-footer. Thick chains draped across the openings of the larger pipes, and sheets of spider’s webs filled the corners of the room and covered half the opening of the middle pipe. Graffiti above the smaller hole said “Black Army will prevail” over a drawing of bird’s wings.

Levi chose the pipe on the far left, hoping to head toward the upper part of the city. He had to crouch to navigate this smaller drain and kept his feet on either side of the water and his left hand on the wall to steady himself. This pipe was solid concrete, smooth but spotted with algae and the occasional graffiti. Every so often, he passed a rib where two concrete pipes butted together and thin, brown water dripped down.

He came to an indentation shooting off to the right, and he stopped to explore. A square chute ran straight up and looked to be two stories high. Rusty iron rungs jutted out from the wall, providing footholds. Levi tucked his flashlight into his mouth and started to climb. A third of the way up, a shell of rust crumbled off the rung, revealing a thin
spindle of metal underneath that snapped under Levi’s weight, causing him to drop to the previous foothold. He held tightly with his left hand and, once his heartbeat returned to normal, reached for the rung above the broken one. He tugged it first, and it snapped. Frustrated, he climbed back down.

The beam of his flashlight flickered over the walls. The tunnel curved, and he worried he’d come out back in the middle section of the Safe Lands with no way of getting through the second inner wall. An occasional foot-wide pipe dumped into the larger one, sending a stream of water down the chute. More pipes split off from the main one, but Levi stayed on the straight course. No sense in getting any more lost.

The next ladder he came to ran up the wall to a manhole. Light pulsed through a cluster of tiny openings in the lid, and thuds of tires and music echoed down the chute. Flashlight back in his mouth, Levi climbed slowly, checking each rung before putting his weight on it. When he came to the top, the rhythmic
thump-thump, thump-thump
of tires lowered his spirits. He’d be a fool to exit in front of the vehicles that were looking to capture him or might simply run him over.

He climbed down and continued up the tunnel. Some of the connecting ribs rained steady streams of water over his head, cooling his sweaty body. The tunnel forked into two. Levi kept to the left, inching down a steep grade. The water rose quickly, and he noticed several cockroaches on the walls, moving in the opposite direction.

“If it’s bad enough for roaches …” he said, marveling at the sound of his voice in the dark place. He turned back and took the right fork. This tunnel was cleaner and smooth. He passed some graffiti that said, “Lonn for Task Director General.” The smell of fried food wafted down, and his stomach growled. He wondered how long he’d been in the drains and if he should stop and eat some beef jerky. Just ahead, red and blue electric light danced at the bottom of the tunnel. Another ladder up?

A shadow suddenly flashed long in the distance across the tunnel walls. A light shining behind him. He ducked down, then ran for the
indentation in the concrete where the colored light originated. Hidden in the nook, he peeked back down the tunnel. Two powerful lights shone his way, ten times brighter than his crank flashlight. A voice drifted down the tunnel. He couldn’t understand what was said, but it didn’t sound urgent. Perhaps they hadn’t seen him.

Levi started up the rungs, testing each quickly, and climbed to the top. Above, a rectangular grille blocked his exit. The sky was dark already. Levi could see the tops of lit-up buildings but little else. He didn’t hear any vehicles, so he put one hand flat against the grille and pushed. Unexpected dirt and rust sprinkled into his eyes. He ducked and blinked, trying to clear his vision. Far below, the tunnel glowed bright and footsteps splashed. The men were almost beneath him.

Keeping his head down, he pushed again, pressing his shoulders and head against the iron. It shifted. Dirt and rust tickled his neck and slid down the back of his shirt. He pushed harder and groaned under the strain. The iron popped free, upsetting a glass bottle that rolled on the ground above, clanking over what sounded like asphalt—maybe a road? He could barely slide the grille aside. It scraped over the ground.

“He’s there!”

Light blinded him from below. He scrambled out of the hole and crawled onto asphalt. He lay between two buildings in a narrow ditch filled with bottles, broken glass, smashed paper cups, some kind of plastic, and crusts of half-eaten food. Music pulsed nearby, thumbing in time with Levi’s heartbeat. He pushed to his feet, covered in rust and dirt, which had practically turned to mud due to how wet and sweaty he was.

“See that? I must be vaping high, ‘cause a man just climbed out of the trash.”

“You ain’t vaping, peer. I see him too.”

Two grubby men were sitting on the curb across the street from the ditch, smoking.

“You the trash man, shell?” one asked, then said to his companion, “Them cleaning men get to go more places than enforcers!”

Levi stood on the corner of an alley and a narrow road that divided
a wall of buildings from a grassy expanse, searching for somewhere to hide. He inched into the road, looked both ways, then sprinted around the two men and into the grassy area.

“There he goes!” a man called from the hole Levi had just exited.

Levi dodged around bushes and couples sitting on blankets on the grass. His feet were wet inside his boots, slipping on the rubber and making each step uncertain. A concrete wall loomed ahead, somewhat camouflaged in a thick array of trees and bushes. He turned sharp, to run alongside the perimeter, but lost his balance and fell, sliding into some bushes near the wall. He lay still and peeked back, hoping they’d lost sight of him.

No such luck. Five Safe Lands enforcers approached, each with a gun aimed his way. Think! He wouldn’t be a help to Jemma if he was dead. He crawled deep into the cover of the bushes, slipped his rifle over his head, then shrugged off his backpack.

“Come on out of there, shell! Nice and easy. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

“His SimTag isn’t registering on my reader,” another voice said.

“Mine either,” said the first. “He must be a ghost.” Then louder, “Pull your stunners!”

“Nothing to see here,” a third voice said. “Go on back to your pleasure.”

Levi hid the rifle and backpack under a large, thick bush. He pushed onto his hands and knees and crawled along the wall.

“He’s moving!”

“Then stun him, fool.”

Something scuttled over the back of his chest waders. He lay still, listening to the crackling sound. When the sound stopped, the enforcers moved in. Levi drew the pistol from the holster on his chest, flipped off the safety, and fired the gun.

They enforcers dove for cover, so Levi popped to his feet and carefully trained the pistol on the men. In turn they aimed their weapons his way.

“We don’t want to hurt you, sir.”

Levi wasn’t certain they could. Their strange guns had had no effect on him, and if some shot actual bullets, he was wearing the bulletproof vest. He was safe … unless they shot for his head.

“Let me go on my way then,” Levi said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone either.”

“Can’t do that. Least not ‘til we log this disturbance. And it’s illegal to to go without a SimTag. Now put that gun down, and we’ll go talk this over at the RC.”

Levi’s gaze fell on a streetlamp behind the enforcers, and after a moment of consideration he aimed and shot. The lamp went out with a pop, and Levi sprinted between two of the enforcers, heading for the streets, hoping he could get lost in another drain or pile of trash.

“Aim for his shoulders!”

Another crackle lit the air. His body stiffened, and he fell. He hit the grass hard on his face and chest, sliding a few feet. His muscles cramped tighter and tighter until he thought he might explode. Then the crackling stopped. He grunted and tried to move. Someone knelt on his back, pulled his wrists behind him. His limbs were still tingling. He felt lightheaded.

“… violation of Safe Lands laws,” a man’s voice said from above. “You’ll appear before the Safe Lands Guild to plead your case. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you at trial. Do you understand?”

Levi grunted, unable to form actual words.

The enforcers put him in the back of a van with the quietest, smoothest engine he’d ever heard. They transported him to what they called the “RC,” a three-story brick building with a sign over the entrance that read
Safe Lands Rehabilitation Center.

The enforcers took Levi into an elevator then to a white room that was barely larger in size. It was empty but for a small table with two chairs in the center of the room. Some folded, light blue fabric sat on the table.

“Change into the jumpsuit,” one of the enforcers said before shutting the door.

“Why don’t you make me?”

No one answered. Levi sat at the table and shuddered under a constant stream of cool air pouring through a vent above the table. He climbed onto the table, careful not to let his rubber boots slip on the shiny surface. He found no way to shut the vent. He pulled off his gloves and tried to pry the vent free, but only succeeded in ripping his thumbnail.

He gave the vent one last bang with his fist and fell back into the chair, shivering, sucking on his throbbing thumb. He noticed the gash on the top of his hand from when he’d fallen in the canal. If Mason where there, he’d probably claim it was infected.

His hands were trembling, a sign that he was breaking down. He squeezed his fists. He was in their world now. At their mercy. The realization sent him into a rage. He stood, knocking back his chair, grabbed the edge of the table and pushed it over, screaming as he did. He ran to the door and pounded and yelled for them to open it.

He sank to his knees and set his forehead against the door. He’d failed his people. His first day as elder, and he’d already failed. What could he do?

No compromise, Papa Eli had said. Levi would not do what they asked. He would not put on their clothes or obey their commands. He would not compromise.

But then the gas came.

The next thing he knew, Levi was waking up on a stiff mattress.

He sat up, queasy, and looked around. A small yellow camera peered down on him from above. When he stood, he realized he was wearing a light blue jumpsuit and a pair of sissy black slipper shoes. As far as he could tell, he was in a jail cell. Rows of cells ran along two walls and on both sides of him, separated by a narrow aisle.

The cut on his left hand was bandaged, but his other hand itched, as did his cheek. He caught sight of a faint white glow of
9X
on the back of his hand. “No!” They had
no right
to mark his body like he belonged to them.

He tugged at his hair and screamed until he lost his breath. Unable
to stay still any longer, he ran to the bars of his cell. “Hey!” He gave the bars a good shake. “Hey! You people have no right to keep me here! Let me out!”

“You won’t get out of here that way, shell,” a man said from the cell diagonal from Levi’s. He had a wide forehead; a short, graying beard; and shoulder-length wavy dark hair that hung in his face. “Name’s Lonn. What’s yours?”

Levi slowed his breathing slightly. “Levi.”

“That X on your face new, Levi?” Lonn asked.

Levi touched his cheek again, nodded. “If it matches the one on my hand, it’s as new as the number. What’s it mean?”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Outsider, huh? Well, the X is a strike. It means you’ve been a bad boy. Three strikes are all you get in the Safe Lands before they put you away for good.”