Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (8 page)

Blade kicks aside my rucksack and marches me past several tents before motioning for me to sit down by a smoldering fire pit. He secures my ankles and wrists, and then sits back and stokes the embers. I throw a furtive glance over at him and scoot closer to the fire. If I’m going to learn anything about the Rogues, Blade’s probably my best shot. I clear my throat nervously. “Rummy’s not much of a talker, is he?”

Blade flicks a dispassionate gaze over me. “How’d you spring the sweep?”

I raise my brows. “What?”

“You said Sweepers found your camp.” Blade sneers at me. “Greener like you couldn’t bust her way outta a sweep.”

I eye him warily. “I jammed the tube with a boulder.”

Blade’s face goes slack. He stares at me for a moment and then jumps to his feet. “Don’t even think about trying to make a run for it. Remember, I’m strapped up and you ain’t.” He slaps his holstered gun by way of demonstration and strides off in the direction of the tents.

I stare into the shadows after him. Have I just signed my death warrant? Or is this going to work in my favor? After all, the Rogues have got to be as desperate as we are to find a way to stop the extractions.

I straighten up and check out my surroundings. I need to have the area mapped in my brain in case there’s any chance of escape. I’m only twenty feet from the tree line, but even if I could make a run for it, I’d have to navigate a belt of jagged boulders left behind by the flash flood. I shiver. The Rogues won’t hesitate to slit me ear to ear if they catch me trying to escape.

I wonder what they’re planning to do with me. If they’re recruiting Undergrounders, I’ll have no choice but to play along. I wince when I think of the tattoos on the women’s faces. Maybe they’ll ink me as part of the initiation. Ma would roll over in her grave. If she had one, that is. I choke back a sob. I wish I could feel her comforting arm around my shoulders right now.

A few minutes later Blade and Rummy come back into view. Rummy cracks his neck from side to side and stares intently at me. My blood runs cold. I’m not sure if he’s telegraphing a desire to snap my neck, or if it’s just some kind of tic he’s developed to intimidate his victims. He walks over and hunkers down in front of me. I let my gaze travel down to his tattooed fingers, relieved to see he’s not wearing brass knuckles.

He rubs his eyebrow back and forth, rippling the skin above his piercings.

“How’d you know to jam the tube with a boulder?”

I throw a sidelong glance at Blade. He passes his grubby hand over his shaved head, and my own scalp prickles.

I shrug. “Lucky guess.”

Rummy crunches forward, almost as if he doesn’t want Blade eavesdropping on us. He wrinkles his brow, and I stare, creeped out and fascinated, as the tattoos on his forehead fold into a murky kaleidoscope.

“Thing is, snitch, I know you’re lying.”

Snitch?
Reid’s lifeless body flashes to mind. My palms sweat profusely behind my back. If that’s what Rummy thinks I am, it’s over. My only hope is to convince him I’m more valuable to him alive than dead, that I know something about the sweeps he doesn’t.

“You’ve never dodged a sweep?” I feign a laugh.

Rummy tightens his lips in a thin cord of disapproval.

I fix a bemused look on him, blood pounding in my swollen wrists. “You look like the kind of guy would have figured out—”

Suddenly a searing pain hits and my jaw swivels sideways. Two displaced Rummies dance before me, then the salty taste of blood fills my mouth.

Rummy clasps my throbbing jaw and squeezes it between his fingers like I’m a zit he’s trying to pop. “Lemme show you what happens to suckers what diss me.” He snaps his fingers and Blade slices the cord around my wrists and ankles in a lightning fast move with a knife that suddenly appears like an extension of his arm. He grabs me and hauls me to my feet.

Rummy strides off, Blade half-dragging me after him.

“Please don’t hurt me!” I beg. “I was just trying to help.”

We stop outside a small two-man tent and Blade shoves me to my knees. My throat constricts with fear. He reaches for the nylon door flap, folds it back, and forces my head inside. “Welcome to the hole.”

I sway back and forth, disoriented and dizzy from the blow to my jaw. The stench of sweat permeates the space. I blink to accustom my eyes to the darkness. There’s a body, gagged and bound, lying at the back of the tent. A corpse? Someone kicks me from behind. Tentatively, I crawl forward. The man’s eyes are swollen shut like two purple grapes. His head is shaved, but it’s hard to tell if he’s tattooed because his bruised skin is so mottled. A dry web of blood laces his face, crusting on his bulging nose and smashed right ear. His chest moves up and down, but I’m guessing by his uneven breathing that some of his ribs are broken. My heart races.
Lemme show you what happens to suckers what diss me.
I back slowly out of the tent on clammy palms.

That’s when I see the grimy orange backpack stashed in the corner.

I press my knuckles to my lips. Fragments of rational thought explode in my head.
Owen!
I wheeze like I’m dying, unable to catch a breath, vaguely aware that Blade is stringing syllables into unintelligible words. I collapse in the dirt, silently screaming my brother’s name.

“Git up!” Blade yells. He tucks the toe of his steel-toed boot beneath my torso and flips me onto my back. Blood trickles into my throat and I sit up and spit out another mouthful of gunk. My face pulsates with pain.

Rummy rolls up some kind of cigarette and lights it, watching me with half-lidded eyes. I rock forward, violent chills running through my limbs. I can’t let them know they have my brother. They’ll use it against us.

Rummy takes a drag of his cigarette. “That sucker told me the same boulder wack you did. Blowing smoke ’bout ‘scaping from Sweepers.”

I gingerly touch the back of my hand to my swollen lips. “It’s true.”

“Prove it.” Blade leans in close. “Prove you’re not just a filthy Sweeper snitch.”

I rack my brains for something to tell him. Something that will give these thugs no option but to keep me alive. One thing comes to mind, but it’s a huge gamble. I fix my gaze on Blade. “I can take you to a Sweeper ship.”

He raises his brows and glances at Rummy before turning his attention back to me. Rummy tosses his cigarette on the ground, grinds it beneath his boot, and heads my way, his face expressionless.

“It crashed,” I stammer, as Rummy gets closer. “I can show you—”

He lunges for my throat and squeezes hard, cutting off my air supply. “I swear I’ll pop your eyeballs out of their sorry sockets if you’re jerkin’ my chain.” He shakes me loose and hovers over me while I writhe around and catch my breath. “Where's this ship at?”

I make a gurgling sound. My throat feels like it’s been cinched tighter than a bronc’s saddle. I might just have made the biggest mistake of my life. What if there is no Hovermedes? If Mason was lying about the abandoned ship, Owen and I are as good as dead. But I’m committed now. If the Hovermedes exists, I have to find it. I take a shallow breath. “A few miles east of my bunker.”

“Ain’t that convenient?” Rummy juts his chin at me, his features hard and impenetrable. “How’d it get there, Butterface?”

I hesitate, toying with several plausible answers. None that involve Mason. I’m reluctant to give him everything I know in case I need information to barter with later on. The Rogues will only keep me alive as long as I’m useful to them.

“We dragged it out of the river,” I say.

Rummy narrows his eyes at me until I feel my pupils dilate. I’m so tired I could collapse right now and sleep in the dirt, but I will myself to stare him down.

He rewards me with a stinging slap across the jaw. “You mad dogging me or what?”

I shake my head fervently, eyes now firmly planted on the ground. My jaw pulsates with pain. I’m learning the hard way not to challenge him in any way.

“Put her in the hole with the meathead,” Rummy says over his shoulder to Blade. He turns back to me, his pierced brow glinting menacingly. “You even think about tryin’ to bust outta here, Butterface, and I’ll tattoo your wuss-white cheeks with my switchblade.”

Blade motions at me to get back inside the tent.

I crawl inside on all fours, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and relief.

I stretch my throbbing body out alongside Owen. Up close, the grotesque proportions of his swollen face are even more shocking. But, at least he’s still breathing. I lay perfectly still, straining to listen in on Rummy and Blade’s conversation.

“… let Diesel hear what she has to say.”

“I ain’t down for taking them to Diesel.”

“You ain’t in charge! We’re rollin’ out at midnight.”

I awaken to Owen's moans. I blink and bolt up into a sitting position. He twists from side to side, groaning like a wounded animal.

“Owen! It’s me, Derry,” I whisper into his feverish ear.

His body responds with a couple of spastic jerks, and then his cracked lips open and close. I dive for his pack and rummage around for water. I cradle his clammy head in my arms and hold his canteen to his lips. The first mouthful spills down his chin as he struggles to swallow. I lift him a little higher and try again, this time allowing only a few drops at a time to trickle into his mouth.

His throat spasms, a loud, uncomfortable gulching that makes me shudder.

“Owen!” I lean over his face. “Nod, if you know it’s me.”

His neck muscles twitch in the palm of my hand. “What … are you doing … here?”

“We followed the Rogues’ trail.”

“Frank’s … camp?” His voice rasps like sandpaper. “Did you find them?”

I hesitate. If I tell him what happened to Reid he might lose all hope. “Not yet.”

“They’re not here.” Owen lets out a heavy sigh as if the few words he’s spoken have exhausted him.

I offer him another sip of water, but he flops sideways, eyes scrunched shut.

I lay his head down carefully and screw the cap back on the remaining water. I’m tempted to take a swig, but there’s no guarantee Blade or Rummy will replenish our supply any time soon.

I lie back down and carefully shift my jaw from side to side. It’s stiff and it aches, but as far as I can tell it’s not broken. That’s about all that’s still intact. In the space of a few short hours I’ve lost Jakob, Mason, Big Ed, my dog, and even my pack. I blow out a long, despairing breath. I can’t lose Owen too.

My thoughts return to Jakob. I press my knuckles to my temples and work them around in circles to ease the pressure building inside. Do the Sweepers even have him? Maybe he fell from the trail into the river trying to get away from them. My stomach twists. I can’t allow myself to go there. I have to believe he’s alive, for now.

I close my eyes and start to drift off again when I hear Blade’s voice. He yanks the flap on the tent aside. I shield my eyes with the back of my hand when a blinding beam searches out my face.

“On your feet,” he barks. “We’re movin’ out.”

“What about him?” I motion to Owen.

“Shut up and get out!” Blade yells, making a fist.

I scramble past him, averting my eyes. I’ve no desire to invite another sucker punch.

He tosses me Owen's pack. “Put this on.”

I adjust the straps and load it on my back without a word.

A few minutes later, two skinheads appear, carrying what looks like a combat stretcher between them. I watch, sick to my stomach, as they drag Owen feet first out of the tent and toss him onto the stretcher like he’s nothing more than a rotting corpse.

Rummy appears with several more Rogues.“You take the rear,” he says to Blade. “Keep a close eye on the girl.”

We walk for miles, stepping over downed trees, following the cottony beams of half-charged flashlights beneath a chalky moon, until the first rays of dawn spill over the mountains. Blade is never more than two feet from me, but I constantly scan the braided undergrowth in the vain hope there might be an opportunity to escape. Not that I could leave Owen behind.

“Where are we going?” I ask Blade.

He stares back at me, a wooden expression on his face.

“South? Lewis Falls?”

He grunts, and shoves me forward with the barrel of his gun just as a nine-point buck trots out of the brush. Spooked, it bolts into a nearby grove and threads seamlessly into the forest. That’s when I hear the long, flute-like trill of a wood thrush.

The shadowy forest freezes in time like a giant leafy still life. My ears ring with the familiar coded call of a creature I know has neither wings nor feathers. I trudge forward, my body twitching, alternating between shock and relief.
Big Ed’s alive!

I peer frantically into every fern-draped nook we pass, trying to gauge how far away the whistle was. I’m not even sure if it came from behind or up ahead. I throw a wary glance over my shoulder at Blade. His eyes are glazed over, shoulders sagging as he marches, lost in the steady pace Rummy has set.

I listen for another trill, but it doesn’t come. Maybe we’ve already passed Big Ed’s hiding spot. A wave of panic grips me. What if he was trying to signal to me and I missed it? Or what if he’s injured and needs my help? Blade tosses a bone he’s been gnawing on into the foliage, and I glance despairingly at the mud-caked brush where it lands.

Eyes like a flounder camouflaged into its green surroundings blink silently at me from inside a thicket. I suck in a frozen breath and quickly turn my head forward. The hairs on the back of my neck tense in anticipation of Blade’s suspicion. Did I stare too long at the ferns? I keep moving, spastic steps on jellied legs. Blood pounds in my temples.

“Step on it!” Rummy yells over his shoulder. Blade prods me in the back and I trot forward on cue.

We descend for a couple more hours, the lukewarm morning sun massaging my stiff limbs. The sun-washed pines give way to thickets of willows and leafy bluebells. All I want to do is collapse somewhere and sleep. I’m beginning to think I mistook the whistle, even the watchful eyes in the brush. Maybe it was an animal of some kind.