Frozen (19 page)

“I have to tell you something,” the Forgery says. “I tried the night we climbed the Wall, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for permission to continue. “Well? What is it?”

“I remember.”

“Remember what?”

“The pieces of my life that have always been foggy, what happened when I turned eighteen. It came back when I saw the Wall. It felt like a dream at first, like something my brain must have conjured up to amuse me, but then we climbed and the truth hit me so hard it was like getting my wind knocked out.”

He takes a deep breath and I’m worried that if I say anything he won’t continue, so I sit in silence, afraid to break the spell.

“There are things I’ve always known, like how hot it was where I grew up. We didn’t have winters like this, but we did have a Wall. And you couldn’t cross it. If you did, you died. Dextern. That was my home. It was named after someone important before my time, but he went missing. They all went missing at eighteen, the boys. I had two brothers: one older, one younger. The first one left me and then I left the youngest. Something took me.” A short pause. “And here’s what I never used to be able to remember but now can: lights. Blinding lights. And wind, raging, like I was caught in a storm. Then a room and a cold slab of metal beneath my back and faces overhead that wore white masks covering their mouths and noses. I fell asleep and almost immediately I was waking up again, only it felt like I was waking up for the very first time, like every moment beforehand had been a dream.

“It makes sense now, the way it’s all coming together. It’s like I was trying to braid with two strands and only just found the third. I think I know what it means, but I want to hear you say it.” He’s quiet for a moment and then asks, “What happened to me, Gray?”

“Nothing happened to
you
. It happened to Jackson.”

“But I’m Jackson.”

“You’re a Forgery named Jackson. There’s a difference.”

Harvey once explained that a Forgery is a perfect replica of a Heisted boy. They have all the same appearances and mannerisms and even memories. It’s the software integrated with their minds that keeps them acting on Frank’s orders despite what he’s done to them. The code Harvey wrote is so powerful, it can override free will, convince a Forgery to block out certain thoughts and act in a way they wouldn’t if their minds were unburdened. It could make them forget their Heist, for instance, as well as the moments following it.

But Jackson . . .

Maybe the Wall triggered something. Seeing it could have been too personal. Climbing it might have pushed him over the edge, caused some glitch in his internal software. His mind could now be processing things beyond what his programming intended. Or maybe he’s making it all up. I worry I’ll never be able to figure him out, separate his truths from his lies.

“Frank—the person who sent me to tail your group,” Jackson says. “He is the person who put me behind the Wall in Dextern. He’s the Order and the Reaper. That’s what I can see now. They are one and the same.”

“Yes,” I say, even though he didn’t ask for confirmation. There is a mangled noise, like Jackson is sobbing into the folds of his shirt. “Are you crying?” I ask. The act should be impossible for a Forgery.

“No,” he says. “But it hurts.”

“Welcome to the Laicos Project, Jackson. He hurt a lot of people: me, Bree, Xavier, my father. He hurt them all to build people like you.”

“It’s not the truth that hurts,” he says. “It’s a question I have. I only recently started thinking it, but every time it wanders into my head I feel like my skull is about to crack under the weight of it all. It is the worst headache I’ve ever had. It makes me want to die.”

“Must be one heck of a question.”

He exhales quickly, like breathing hurts. “I keep . . . I keep asking myself if you’re really the enemy. I wonder if maybe . . .” He pauses, choking on his own words. “I keep asking myself if I should help you.”

The metal vat between us vibrates as Jackson collapses against it. I listen to him shudder, wheeze, cough in pain.

I wonder what it means.

And then, I wonder if it’s all a lie.

When Clipper returns, he looks fine. Shaken, but fine.

“What did Titus want?”

“He wanted to know why I’m here,” the boy says. “Because I’m so much younger than the rest of you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. That I’m the technical lead. That I was supposed to get this place up and running again, fix the cameras with looped footage. He seemed interested in that. Brought me to the Room of Whistles and Whirs and made me put my ear against the doorway. Asked me what was on the other side.”

“And?”

“It could be exactly what we’re looking for: a control room with access to the camera feeds. I’m actually wondering if there are generators in there, too, and if that’s all the Tolling is—the people of Burg hearing them kick on and off.”

“But why would they need generators?” Sammy asks, finally awake. “There’s nothing powered here.”

“Except the cameras,” I say.

“Titus wants me to open it,” Clipper says after a brief pause. “The door.”

“Maybe I can strike a deal with him. Our freedom for the door. If I can arrange that, can you open it, Clipper?”

“I have to try. If that room’s holding what I think it is, getting inside means we might be able to salvage the mission after all. Might even be able to get Titus on our side, too.”

“What will you need?”

“There was a panel near the door, probably for an access code. I need my gear, but tell Titus I’m after tools.”

“What kind of tools?” I ask.

“Make something up. Copper wiring. Alcohol from the hospital. I don’t care. Anything that will get you aboveground to search for it.”

“And why do I want to go aboveground?”

“Because I stashed my pack before they grabbed us the other night. It’s under the gallows. There’s a loose board at the base. You get the pack and I can put us in touch with Xavier again. Just as a backup. In case this door thing doesn’t work out.”

“Clipper, you’re a genius.”

I wish he could see me in the darkness, because I’m smiling. For the first time in days.

When the Tolling strikes again that evening, Bruno escorts our team to the food line. Again we watch the people ahead of us collect their strips of dry meat before dispersing. But rather than scattering as they had earlier, many head for the stairs. Half of them are extremely young, and small, and they wear cloth bags over their shoulders. The older portion of the group, made up mainly of males, clutch knives and spears. Most have tar smeared across their faces the way Titus did when we first met, darkening their skin to blend with the night.

“Where are they going?” I ask Bruno.

“To work,” he answers without looking at me. “Scavengers and Hunters work nights. E’eryone else, days.”

“Unless yer unlucky and get saddled with two jobs,” a boy grumbles as he brushes by.

“Yeah, bein’ a Breeder’s a real chore,” Bruno snaps after him.

The boy tightens his grip on his knife. His skin is so dark he’s forgone camouflage. He looks about my age, but it’s hard to be certain because he has a hood pulled up and it casts most of his face in shadow. I think of the girl I saw at the morning Tolling, children in her care spaced out like clockwork, and think I may know what a Breeder’s job is in Burg. Even though the concept is the same, something about it seems far worse than Claysoot’s slatings.

“Take me to see Titus,” I say to Bruno. “I have a proposition.”

“He don’t make deals with Reapers.”

“Even if they know how to open the Room of Whistles and Whirs?”

Bruno’s lips pinch and he tugs me out of line. I look over my shoulder at the team and Sammy winks at me as I’m led away. We may have an unfinished argument lingering between us, but I know he sees the same opportunity I do, and for once, it’s nice to be supported.

TWENTY-FIVE

“MY DOOR FER YER FREEDOM?”
Titus repeats after I’ve made my proposal.

“That’s the plan.”

“How do I know yer not gonna send more Reapers in yer place?”

I give him the same answer he gave Bree when she was in a standoff with his men: “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Titus rubs the back of his neck. “Ain’t sure I can do that.”

“We are not with them, and I can prove it to you when we open the door. We think the Room of Whistles and Whirs might be a control room.”

He tosses his knife from hand to hand.

“If I’m right, we can alter the cameras. Make it safe for your people to walk aboveground. You could even leave if you wanted.”

“Course we can leave. That’s why we’re openin’ it. It’s the only way out.”

I almost laugh, but the look on his face remains stern. “Titus, whatever lies behind that door is
not
going to lead you out of Burg.”

“Our tales say it Tolled the day the Reapers came,” he says. “Just moments before they arrived. Like a warnin’. Like it
knew
.”

“Coincidence.”

“It’ll lead us to safety.”

“It’s just a room.”

“And the Wall ya want us climbin’ is just stairs to a fiery death,” he snaps.

There is no point arguing. I will not change his mind—at least not until the door is open. Maybe then I’ll be able to convince him I’m not with the Order. Maybe he’ll even join our side, make this trip not an entire waste. But until then . . .

“Fine. The deal stands. The door for our freedom, nothing more. I’ll need to go aboveground to gather supplies for Clipper.”

“Why can’t the boy get ’em himself?” Titus asks.

I lean back on my crate, attempting to appear indifferent. “He could. But they’ll spot him, the Reapers. They watch this place. You know it. It’s why you only go out at night. And Clipper doesn’t stick to the shadows the way I do. If you want someone invisible, like your Scavengers and Hunters, you’ll send me.”

“Tell me what ya need and my people’ll get it.”

“I won’t know it until I see it.”

Titus rolls the knife over in his palm. “Ya see this here blade, Reaper? I love it more than anythin’. I hone it e’ery day. I polish the handle. I wipe it clean when it gets bloody and then I polish it some more. It’s an extension of my hand.” He holds it out in demonstration, jabbing the air.

“What’s your point?”

His eyes narrow. “My point is I ain’t got no problem usin’ this knife and usin’ it well. If yer not back within a timely fashion, that girl of yers will be dead.”

I don’t like it, but I don’t have another choice.

“We shake on it,” he says. “In blood. Yer back quickly, or her life is mine to take. Then, if ya get that door open and promise no Reapers will enter in yer place, I’ll let yer men walk.”

He makes a fist around the blade and draws back quickly, splitting open his palm. Bruno takes the knife from him and does the same to my hand. The weapon is so sharp I barely feel its slice, until suddenly my palm is white-hot.

“Do we got a deal?” Titus says, his hand outstretched.

I can agree to it all but the promise at the end. I have no true control over the Order, no ability to swear they won’t ever set foot here. But why would they? They no longer think twice about this place. And I need that gear bag waiting under the gallows. I need to speak with Xavier and Bo, arrange alternate escape plans in case Clipper has issues with the door.

So I reach out. I press my palm into Titus’s. We shake.

Bruno hands me a rag to wrap around my bleeding palm, and a cloth bag like the ones I saw the Scavengers carrying earlier. Then he leads me to a lone stairwell just beyond Titus’s room.

“Don’t linger. He really will spill her blood without hesitatin’.”

But I already know this, and I ascend the stairs without another word.

I push open a set of cellar doors and step into a dingy alley. The moon is lighting up the snow like sun on a body of water. I blink, temporarily blinded after a full day in the dimly lit tunnels.

The smell of life is exhilarating. Dirt, frozen beneath my feet. Bark and pine of trees that are not visible from where I stand. Even the snow seems rich with sensation. It’s like I’ve awoken from a bad dream and am living once more. I don’t know how Titus is content to keep his people trapped beneath this town, living like moles, when he could be out here.

I take a deep breath and it burns. How quickly I forgot the sting of cold.

The moon is much brighter than when we infiltrated Burg, and without snowfall to obscure it, I can see easily. Which means the cameras can, too. I zip my jacket up as tightly as it will go, pull my hat as low as possible, and slink down the alley.

Ahead, two figures dart between buildings. Scavengers. I wait for a large cloud to pass over the moon, and then I sprint toward the gallows. It takes me a moment to find the loose board. I kick it in and sure enough, Clipper’s pack is there, cold to the touch.

For a split second I contemplate sprinting for the Wall. I could make it there and back quickly, alert the others of our situation in person. But my idea of quickly might be different than Titus’s, and I can’t take chances with Bree’s life on the line.

A cloud shifts overhead and as the moon casts its glow back on the land, I snatch up the pack and duck into the nearby schoolhouse. Worried there may be cameras inside the room, I wedge myself between two overturned desks so that I’m mostly hidden from view, and start rooting through the bag.

I set aside anything I think Titus may confiscate—a small pocketknife that folds down compactly, a flashlight that could be used to strike someone, the clipping device, which is menacing just to look at—but the rest of the gear is harmless. The location device. Food and water. Wires and computer chips and batteries and all sorts of technological gear I can say Clipper needs to break open the Room of Whistles and Whirs. I transfer everything from Clipper’s bag into the cloth one Bruno provided. Then I pull off my boot and use the knife to cut out a piece of the insole. I collapse the weapon, tuck it in place, and pull my boot back on. When I stand, I can feel it beneath my heel. I wouldn’t want to walk any distance on it, but if I’m going to get free of my ropes tonight, I’ll need it.