Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (25 page)

He might even be watching us on a camera somewhere. The thought sends a cold chill through me.

The intercom static resumes, and then Lyong’s scratchy voice fills the tunnel. “Regrettably, our short time together was not very profitable. But, you can still remedy that. I am willing to release the Undergrounders in exchange for the safe return of my clones. If you refuse, you will leave me no choice but—” He breaks off into a coughing fit that sounds as if his insides are coming up his throat.

I tense, glance around, half-expecting an army of Schutz Clones to materialize around us.

“You made your point with your little explosives stunt,” Lyong continues, his voice wavering and thin. “I am willing to negotiate.”

Our
little stunt? I glance at Owen and see the same confusion swirling in his eyes.

If the Sweepers didn’t blow up the tunnel, who did? My pulse races. Unless that deviation had something to do with it?

“We don’t surrender,” I whisper to the others. “No matter what. If this ends in death, it’s better than ending up in a petri dish.”

“I’m with you,” Sven says. “I’d rather die on my own terms than on an expiration date.”

“All right.” Mason rubs at the stubble on his jaw, snapping back into tactical mode. “We can’t go back into the main tunnel and fight them on two fronts. We’ll have to draw them in.”

“How?” I ask.

“We’ll retreat as far into the tunnel as we can. Look for cover, a storage room, even an alcove or something.”

Sven bends down and reaches for Rummy.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to lug him with you anymore. You can’t fight with his dead weight.”

He contemplates it for a moment, and then grabs Rummy by the collar. “He might come in useful as a shield. I reckon he’d rather die in a hail of gunfire than go back to Sektor Sieben anyway.”

I decide against trying to talk him out of it. I suspect he’s only doing it because I persuaded Mason to let him come with us. I can’t fault him for feeling obligated to return the favor, even if it is for a Rogue.

Sven adjusts Rummy’s limp frame across his shoulders, and then follows Mason and Owen down the narrow tunnel that leads to the center of the Craniopolis. I fall in behind, Tucker close by my side.

Our footsteps ring heavy in my ears, like a bell tolling time we’re running out of. There’s a possibility the Schutz Clones have already infiltrated this tunnel, and we’re walking into an ambush. But with the main duct to the docking station impenetrable, it’s the only option left.

A few minutes later, Mason’s voice rings out. “There’s a door here to my right. I’m gonna blow the lock and see if it leads anywhere.”

I ease up and glance nervously over my shoulder, but there’s no sign of anyone in pursuit. Maybe they’re waiting us out in the main tunnel. Or, maybe Lyong has a worse surprise in store.

I flinch when Mason’s gunshot echoes through the tunnel—confirming our position. He motions us forward and then quickly disappears through the doorway. Owen and Sven follow, weapons poised. I’m still unnerved each time I glimpse Owen's fatigues. It’s impossible to tell it’s him from behind, and that could be disastrous.

Tucker bounds after the others and I hurry after him, reluctant to be the last one standing, alone and vulnerable, in the dark tunnel. My jaw drops when I stumble into the dimly lit room.

“What is this place?” I look around in bewilderment at what appears to be a series of robotic assembly lines.

“It’s an underground factory.” Mason kicks aside a bin of drip lines. “This must be where they make the medical equipment.”

“Parts for the Hovermedes too.” Owen points at an overhead pulley system, strung with matrix cushions in a familiar egg-shaped design.

I run my hand along the conveyer belt closest to me. “It’s still warm. They must have shut down operations when the fire alarm went off.”

Sven lays Rummy down behind a metal supply cabinet and then strides across the room to the vacuum double doors in the back wall. He keys something into the entry panel with a few practiced strokes. “That should reset the code and give us a few extra minutes.”

“What about the side door we came in by?” Owen asks.

“We’ll pick them off as they come through.” Mason counts his cartridges. “I’ll take the left side. Owen, you back me up on the right. Sven and Derry, you’re on the main entry double doors once the clones start coming through there. Until then, cover us.”

Owen embraces me without a word and then follows Mason over to the side door.

I send Tucker to a back corner of the room with a command to lay still. He’s not thrilled, but he trots off and settles in the shadows anyway, eyes watchful in case I change my mind. My arms feel like lead when I load a round into my gun. I wonder if I’ll have the courage to put a bullet in Tucker if the clones break through and overpower us. I could never forgive myself if I went to my death knowing I’d left him in the Sweepers’ hands.

I crouch behind a conveyer belt and train my gun on the doorway. Minutes tick by. Globs of sweat push through my pores. I probe my leathered lips with the tip of my tongue. I’d give anything for some fresh, cold, spring water right now. I rub my face vigorously. I need to stay focused on Mason’s instructions. I adjust the sight on my weapon and take a few deep breaths.

Every few minutes I alter my position to make sure I don’t zone out. There are no second chances any more. I blink back sudden tears. Not even with Jakob. My biggest regret is that I didn’t find him. I’m not even sure he’s alive. Maybe that’s why I’m going all in.

Shots ring out in quick succession.

Startled, I lurch forward into position like I’ve crash-landed. I steady the barrel of my M16 on the conveyer belt and ease back the trigger. Mason and Owen release a steady spray of gunfire at a group of Schutz Clones trying to force their way into the room. When the first one bursts through, I fire a round at his head. His body twitches and flips to the floor. I narrow my eyes and refocus through the sweat pouring from my forehead. My skin’s on fire, my pulse pounding in my temples like a war drum. I chance a glance back at Tucker. He raises his head expectantly, but I motion him back down.

In the few seconds I’m distracted, one of the Schutz Clones gets past Mason and Owen and dives behind a metal tool cart to my right. I grit my teeth and train my weapon on the cart, my thoughts unraveling in a flood of panic. I’ve let them break the line. I’ve compromised our position.

I steady the stock of my weapon and survey the area, contemplating my options. I have no shot. There’s nothing I can do but wait the sucker out. I signal to Sven to back up Mason and Owen, and he gives me a thumbs-up. I hunker down, with my back to the entry, and squint into the far corner, searching for even the slightest movement.

More shots ring out by the entry. Seconds later, an agonized scream pierces through the shelling.
Owen!
A strangled cry comes from my own throat in response. I jerk around in time to see him fall backward, clutching his left thigh. I fire randomly at the clones who pour through the entry. No longer counting kills.

Lost in the horror of the carnage, I become aware too late of a dark shadow hovering on my right. Before I can swing my gun around to take aim, the giant Schutz Clone drops like a stone, shot in the head by Sven. The clone’s weapon skids across the floor in front of me. Panting, I scoot backward from the lifeless body and reposition myself to cover Owen. Another Schutz Clone rushes past, seemingly unaware Owen's not one of them. The fatigues are working in his favor.

I watch Mason’s upper body shudder like a machine gun as he unleashes a hail of gunfire on the advancing Clones. Without Owen's fire to back him up, several more Schutz Clones force their way through. I blast them, backed up by Sven, who’s now crouched behind the assembly line next to me. Mason retreats behind a wall of metal cabinets. From our vantage points, we quickly take down the clones that make it inside, but more pour through the doorway every second. Several hunker down and form a shield, allowing dozens more to stream freely through.

The room is a cauldron of fire and smoke, shadows and shouting. My mind blurs, transforming me into an untamed savage. I let loose round after round, my last cartridge tucked safely in my side pocket. For every Schutz Clone that falls, five more appear like specters. We can’t fend them off much longer.

“Hold your fire!” Mason yells hoarsely.

I freeze and look over at him in confusion. My eyes dilate with fear. A group of Schutz Clones circle Owen like a pack of vultures. One of them kicks his M16 aside. They’ve recognized him. Trembling, I pull back, choking on a mixture of bile and adrenalin, my thoughts an incoherent scramble.

We agreed not to surrender, but I thought that meant we’d all go down together. I can’t let them kill me but take Owen back to Lyong alive.

Fear forks through every fiber of my body. Trembling, I toy with the trigger, torn between going out in a blaze of glory or dropping to my knees to beg for my brother’s life—but what kind of life would that be? I hold my gun in a death grip, my eyes sweeping the room for some way out of the situation.

Something glints at me from the ceiling. I sneak a glance upward, then squint at the vent for a moment longer, perplexed. Is that a muzzle nesting behind it?

A fresh wave of despair grips me. They must have penetrated the air ducts as well. We're finished. My grip on my M-16 slackens. I glance over at Sven, and frown, mystified, when he gives me a sly nod. Some instinct tells me not to lay down my weapon just yet.

A moment later, the intercom sputters to life and Lyong’s voice bleeds into the charged air. “Regretfully, you elected to ignore my directive. Here are my new terms. Surrender peacefully, and you may yet live at the pleasure of the Craniopolis.”

From behind the next assembly line, Sven mouths something at me, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I shrug in response, and he motions up at the vents. I nod to indicate I’ve already seen them. What difference does it make? We’re surrounded.

The lingering smoke in the air itches my nostrils. I try desperately not to sneeze, afraid I’ll trigger a volley of gunfire before I’ve even had a chance to respond to Lyong’s terms. I breathe slowly in and out, my lungs moving like compressed bellows.

I trace the trigger housing on my gun and count the remaining clones congregated around the room. We’re grossly outnumbered. And Owen is weaponless. This can’t end well if we don’t comply.

“You have thirty seconds to accept my terms,” Lyong says, a nettled edge to his voice.

I shiver, picturing his one-eyed tic appraising me in a monitor somewhere as he talks, his papery skin rippling with the effort of speech. I can’t see a way out of the situation that gives me any chance of saving Owen, other than to negotiate. Hesitantly, I raise my arms and step forward.

“My brother’s injured,” I yell. “If you give us your word you’ll help him, we’ll turn over our weapons.”

My heart strains in my chest. I’m counting on Mason and Sven to hold their fire. I wait for what seems like forever, steeling myself for Lyong’s response.

The intercom crackles to life, but Lyong’s words are drowned out in a barrage of gunfire. I pitch sideways beneath a conveyer belt and huddle in a ball, shaking. Debris pelts me from every angle; chunks of seat cushions, shredded medical tubing, shards of glass from exploding computer screens. A pungent chemical smell fills the air.

All over the room, disoriented Schutz Clones fly backward. I stare in disbelief as they writhe in death throes, ossifying before my eyes. Mason bolts across the floor and rolls under the belt beside me. His eyes gleam like cat’s eyes in the dim light. “It’s the Council,” he yells, between breaths. “They’ve penetrated the Craniopolis!”

I blink as I digest what he’s saying, my ears roaring.

Mason slams a fresh cartridge into his gun, his knuckles bleeding profusely. “They must have triggered the explosion. They’ve been planning an attack for months.”

My brain slowly wraps itself around the information. There’s still a chance we can make it out of here alive. I unload my pack and roll over into sniper position. “Then let’s finish this.” I lock eyes with Mason. “For Owen.”

Mason wipes a bloody hand across his brow and steadies the barrel of his gun on a metal support bar beneath the assembly line. The freshly daubed blood on his forehead glistens like a symbol of war. My courage soars.

I search the wreckage for a target and quickly take out a Schutz Clone crouched behind a lathe. He topples forward without a sound. Cautiously, I edge forward on my hips and scan the blood-spattered zone around the entry door. There’s no sign of Owen anywhere. I gesture over my shoulder to Mason to cover me, and wriggle out from under the conveyer belt. I sprint in a half-crouch to the next assembly line, and then drop back down onto my belly. Two feet from me, a spread-eagled Schutz Clone stares up at the vent, eyes protruding like golf balls. From beneath his torso a rust colored, lava-like flow creeps in my direction. I scoot backward and take aim, but before I take the shot, he expires. I lower my weapon and stare, appalled, as his body stiffens and his features fade to gray.

There’s no sign of movement in the area where Owen fell. He could be dead, or the clones might have taken him hostage, but I tell myself he managed to crawl to cover.

“Owen?” I scream, not caring anymore who hears me.

“Over here!”

A giant swell of relief swoops me up and carries me the last ten feet to where he lies curled up behind a stack of supply bins. I dive down and inch painfully forward on my elbows through a soup of metal shavings to reach him. A tremor goes through his body when he sees me.

“How bad is it?” I ask, glancing down at his blood-soaked pant leg. I’ve helped Jakob dress enough wounds in the bunkers to know it doesn’t look good. I wish he were here right now. The Septites know about this kind of stuff.

“I'm fine,” Owen lies, his eyes flickering with pain. “Just finish them off.” Another tremor passes through him. He looks like he’s about to pass out.