Embattlement: The Undergrounders Series Book Two (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (21 page)

T
he 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.”

“He called her crazy,” Trout says glumly. “Sounds to me like he has her.”

“Where’s he holding her then?” Jakob asks.

“We don’t know anything for sure,” I say. I rub my fingertips wearily over my eyelids. The only thing I do know is that every time this mission starts moving in the right direction, something spirals out of control, reminding me that I don’t control squat.

The armed wall of Rogues around us disperses, and I watch them trickle back to their camp fires and gather up their gear. I pace back and forth, my brain cranking furiously. If The Ghost really does have Nikki, he may be planning to try and trade her for Rummy, and I can’t let that happen, not after giving my word I would let Rummy escape. I turn to the others. “Anyone know if Ida’s shown up yet?”

“I’ll go find out,” Jakob says.

Jerome sets the overturned pot upright on the ground in front of him. “We can’t let The Ghost take control of this mission. We agreed we’d get the deviations out,” he says. “I won’t back down on that.”

“We’re not backing down on anything,” I say. “We’ll play along with him until we’re inside the Craniopolis, like we agreed.”

Sven nods. “The Ghost has no friends inside the Craniopolis. He’ll have no choice but to help with the evacuations if he wants to see the light of day again.”

I look up as Jakob comes back into view. He shakes his head. “Ida’s not back yet.”

“It might be a good sign,” I say, as I douse our camp fire. “It could mean she picked up Nikki’s trail.”

“Unless the Rogues got to her too,” Trout says, reaching for his pack.

Jakob squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry about Ida. She can handle herself, and if Nikki’s out there, she’ll find her. I’ll let Jody know it’s time to ready the riders.”

“And I’ll round up Rummy and Sook,” Sven says, walking off with Jakob.

Jerome and I make our way over to the Undergrounders and direct them to fall into formation. I startle when out of nowhere The Ghost appears alongside us, his pack loaded up, a black skull cap pulled down low over his ears. His uncanny ability to creep up on us makes me even more leery of him than I already am.

He stares intently at the Undergrounders as they line up. “Looks like we got ourselves a winning team—my knucklebusters and your girl scouts.” He lets out a snort, and then saunters off humming. It’s always the same tune, but I can’t place it. Everything about the man is disturbing.

W
e hike
for hours through the moonlit forest. The night air has a cold snap to it, and I flex my fingers from time to time to keep the circulation moving. Time has long since passed into oblivion. I’m marching in a trance along the trail when a commotion breaks out behind us, fishing my brain out of a sleepy fog. “Stay here!” I say to Jerome. “I’ll check it out.” I motion to Trout and Jakob to follow me, then slip my rifle from my shoulder and head back into the fray. When we reach the riders at the rear of the formation, I see Ida on horseback, sweaty and disheveled, clutching the reins of a second horse.

My stomach plummets. “Any sign of Nikki?” I say.

She shakes her head. “I found the horse a couple of miles east of here, trotting along, dragging the reins.”

I turn to Jakob and Trout. “The Ghost doesn’t have Nikki,” I say. “She has to be out there somewhere.”

“We can’t just leave her behind,” Jakob says.

“What’s our alternative?” Trout asks. “We can’t hold up the entire mission to look for her. And we can’t leave the Undergrounders and take off searching for her ourselves. There’s no telling what could happen with The Ghost running the show.”

“We keep moving in the direction of the Craniopolis,” I say. “Tell the Undergrounders to keep their eyes peeled. She might try to follow us on foot. I’ll let Jerome know Ida’s back.”

When I resume my position up front, Jerome’s nowhere to be found and The Ghost is the lone leader. “Where’s Jerome?” I ask coldly.

“He went to check on his bearded buddy. He’s worried he won’t be able to keep up the pace.” The Ghost throws me a sidelong sneer, deepening the hollows of his chiseled cheeks. “So you got your horse back, but no rider.”

“I know you don’t have Nikki, which means we owe you nothing,” I say, eyes forward.

“You
know
do you?” The Ghost gives a harsh laugh. In a flash, he spins around and pins me against a tree, his forearm pressed up against my pulsing windpipe. “You don’t
know
squat. That’s why you need me, you and all your toy soldiers. So either you play by my rules, or this little sham of a pact is over, you understand me?”

I gurgle in response, and he shoves me to the ground in disgust. “Just remember, you’re only here to keep these goobers marching until I’m ready to let them loose in the Craniopolis.”

I roll over onto my side and suck in a few painful gasps of air.

“Get up!” The Ghost screams into my face, as several Undergrounders come running toward us.

A shudder goes through me as if he’s poked me with a cattle prod. I get to my feet, rasping. My lungs feel like they’re shooting flames. I clench my teeth, seething inwardly. Everything in me wants to charge him and ram his tattooed head into a tree trunk. But my impatience has cost me in the past. I lift my head and feign a contrite expression. “I get it, now back off.” I wince as I swallow. “I’m fine,” I say to the Undergrounders. “Go back to your positions.”

“Excellent,” The Ghost says, throwing an arm across my shoulder. “Now, about the clone. Can we trust him?”

I breathe slowly in and out, hating the feel of his arm snaked over me. I feel like he’s probing my brain, reading deception in every breath, waiting to strike if I say the wrong thing. I frown at the ground in front of me.

“What’s going on here?” Jerome asks, coming up alongside us.

The Ghost pats me on the back and releases me. “Just a little bonding between leaders, good for the troops’ morale.” He signals with his thumb over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, I’m going to do a quick walk around.” He strides off, whistling softly. That tune again.

I rub my hand over my bruised neck.

“What did he do to you?” Jerome asks, his eye flickering with anger.

“Pushed me around a bit, tried to intimidate me. He’s adamant about being in charge of this mission.” I kick at a rock in my path. “So I played along, let him think he was.” I lift my head and wrinkle my nose, then sniff the air tentatively. “Do you smell fire?”

Jerome eyes the horizon, sniffs a few times, and then drops to the ground as a bullet zings past his head.

I
dive
for cover in the brush. Another shot rings out behind us. It’s too dark to tell which direction the attack is coming from. The acrid smell of smoke grows stronger. Within minutes the forest vibrates with panicked voices and confused shouts. A spooked rabbit zig-zags past. “What’s happening?” I yell to Jerome.

“I’ve no idea!” he shouts back.

I look up in bewilderment as several dark figures race by. It’s hard to make out much more than shadows flitting off in different directions. My fumbling fingers reach for my gun, but I’ve no idea who I’d be shooting at. Have the Rogues turned on us?

“Fire!” a man yells, as he runs by.

My heart thumps like a ball of lead in my chest.
Forest fire.
Every Undergrounder’s nightmare. Panic swells inside me when I realize Jakob is still back there somewhere in the fray with Trout and Sven. My mind darts in another direction. What if Rummy gets away in the chaos? Or Sook gets trampled in the stampede. Every conceivable fear clouds my brain until I can barely think straight.

“We’re trapped!” an Undergrounder yells in passing. “Run!”

Jerome throws me an anguished look. “I can see the flames. We don’t have time to go back and look for the others. We’ve got to move, now!”

The smoke is thick in all directions already. I scramble to my feet and break into a panicked run, instantly losing track of Jerome. I yell for him a couple of times, but all the shouting melds into one unintelligible babel. I can see the flames behind us now, crackling, snapping, pushing rapidly forward. I increase my pace, ploughing my way through the crisping underbrush. Sparks explode like fireworks in my peripheral vision, but I don’t dare turn my head for fear I lose my footing. Several times I get whacked in the side by a pack as a dark figure shoves past me.

I yell for the others until my throat is raw from a combination of smoke and shouting. I can’t hear any more gunfire, which makes me think the earlier shots were random rounds, fired in a blind panic by Undergrounders or Rogues, unsure of what was happening.

I pound through the brush, coughing as blistering forest fumes fill my lungs. A tree limb crashes to the ground behind me. My muscles react in slow motion, propelling me forward like I’m in some underwater dream. And then all of a sudden I’m flying, Not flying,
falling
.

A scream rips from my throat. My fingers reach out to latch onto something, anything, in passing. I scratch at a few spindly roots that slip through my fingers, then pull loose from the dirt, showering me with grit and pebbles. Seconds later, I land on the ground with a thud that knocks the breath from my lungs. I lay on my side, blinking the grit from my watering eyes, terrified to move in case I trigger an unimaginable wave of pain. I curl my fingers into the soil beneath me. It’s soft, almost sandy. I flex my legs, and to my relief nothing screams in pain. Maybe I’ll live after all.

Behind me I hear a shallow groan. Rustling sounds, as if someone is trying to get up. I tense, reluctant to identify myself just yet. Tentatively I flex my arms and legs again, hugely relieved that my limbs are still attached and operational. I sit up and use the tail of my shirt to brush the dirt from my face and lips as best I can. I spit out a mouthful of gunk, then rummage around in the side pocket of my pack for my water bottle. It’s cracked and leaking badly, but I manage to salvage a swig of water, enough to rinse the worst of the grit from between my teeth.

“Who’s there?” a low voice asks.

I breathe slowly in and out as I pat around in the dirt for my rifle. It can’t have fallen too far out of reach. “Identify yourself first,” I say, doing my best to hold my voice steady.

“Derry, is that you? It’s Blackbeard.”

I scrunch my eyes shut and exhale a quick sigh of relief, then crawl over to the shadowy figure lying ten feet or so to my right. “Are you hurt?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Soft landing, all things considered.”

I stretch out a hand and help him sit up. He checks his bandage on his neck. “It’s not oozing. Good thing it didn’t bust open.”

“What happened?” I ask.

Blackbeard brushes the grit from his face. “I’m not sure. All of a sudden there was this wall of fire bearing down on me. The Undergrounders split left and right. That’s when I heard shots.”

My stomach heaves in waves. “Did you see Jakob or the others?”

Blackbeard shakes his head. “It was chaos back there. Couldn’t make out a thing. I was afraid the Rogues had turned on us when I heard the shots.”

“It could have been just people panicking when the fire started,” I say. “One of the campfires mustn’t have been properly stomped out. Wind probably picked up some sparks.”

“I knew nothing good would come of teaming up with the Rogues,” Blackbeard grumbles.

“We need to find the others,” I say, looking around at our landing pad. “No wonder the ground’s so spongy, we’re almost down to the river.” I gesture further down the slope at the thin ribbon of water glittering under the moon.

“Where do you think they’re at?” Blackbeard asks.

I shrug. “I didn’t exactly plan to cannonball off a forty-foot bluff, so who knows what happened to them.” I bite my bottom lip. I’m not ready to think the unthinkable. The only thing keeping me going right now is believing that they’re safe.

Blackbeard gets to his feet. “I reckon those Rogues might have been taking pot shots at us when they saw their chance. They’ve been waiting on the right opportunity to screw us over. They might even have set that fire deliberately.”

“Yeah, well if they did, they screwed themselves along with us,” I say, stuffing my cracked water bottle back into my pack.

We pick our way down the rest of the slope to the river in silence. There are no flames visible down here, only the smell of charred wood to attest to what went down. Either the fire has burned itself out already or it has swept north. The air by the river is clear and the water refreshingly cold after the cloistering heat of the flames. We linger long enough to rinse off our faces, and for Blackbeard to refill his hydration pack. I hold up my cracked water bottle and pull a wry grin. “Guess there was one casualty.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”

We follow the river for close to an hour, until the steep bluff mellows out into a gentle bank that borders the forest. Minutes later, muffled voices drift into range.

“Hear that?” Blackbeard’s face lights up.

“Shhh!” I say. “We don’t know who they are yet.”

We go another twenty feet and then move stealthily into the trees. I flatten myself against a trunk and peer through the foliage. A small group of Rogues and Undergrounders are seated in a clearing up ahead. I do a quick scan of their moonlit faces, but the only one I recognize makes my heart sink—Blade, leaning up against a tree, gnawing on something.

“Looks amicable enough,” I say to Blackbeard, resigning myself to disclosing our presence. “I don’t think they’d be sitting around chewing the cud if they’d been shooting at each other an hour or two earlier.”

Blackbeard looks unconvinced, but he gestures to me to lead the way. I straighten my pack and walk out from behind the trees toward the group. Several Undergrounders jump up and run to meet us. “Are you okay?” one of them asks.

“We’re fine,” I say. “Blackbeard and I inadvertently nosedived off a bluff. We had to follow the river for a couple of miles.”

“Derry!”

I turn around at the sound of Trout’s voice as he runs toward the clearing. A huge sob of relief sticks in my throat like a ball of rice pressing against my windpipe. I gulp, and then embrace him warmly.

“Have you seen Jakob and Sven?” I ask, my eyes searching his for some morsel of hope.

“They’re out there combing every inch of the forest for you. Jerome and some of the other Undergrounders are helping.”

“Any sign of Sook and Rummy?” I ask.

Trout motions with his chin over my shoulder. I turn around and let out a relieved sigh when I spot them tied to a tree about thirty feet from the main group.

“No one’s seen The Ghost,” Trout says. “Be fine with me if it stays that way.” He frowns. “Do you think he had something to do with this?”

I grimace. “Blackbeard wondered the same thing. I just can’t believe The Ghost would be so stupid.”

“I’d better get back out there and let the others know you’re safe,” Trout says.

“I’ll come with you and help you look for stragglers,” I say.

We slip between the trees and spread out, scouring the area just north of the river. It feels more like a macabre game of hide and seek than a search and rescue, because we don’t dare call out for fear The Ghost is close by. If the fire was arson, who knows what rules are in play at this point.

We search diligently for almost an hour, ferreting around in every patch of undergrowth, startling only the odd mouse or squirrel.

“Let’s go back and see if anyone else has shown up yet,” I say to Trout.

We take one last look around, and then make a beeline back to the clearing. I anxiously scan the faces in the group for new arrivals, and spot Jerome in conversation with Blackbeard and a couple of his other men. I dash up to him, my heart thumping.

“Is Jakob with you?” I interrupt.

“No.” Jerome grips my arm in a comforting gesture. “He’s okay though. I saw him less than thirty minutes ago with another search party.”

“What about Sven?” I ask.

“Someone’s coming now!” Blackbeard says, motioning behind us.

I spin around, a flicker of hope shooting up inside me. But the figure stumbling into the clearing sends me spiraling into despair.