Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (5 page)

“I couldn’t … let you go without me,” he gasps.

I pull out my canteen and hold it to his lips. “Here, take a drink.”

He takes an obligatory sip, before slumping backward.

I unwind my bandana from around my neck, pour some water on it, and press it to his forehead.

“I can’t go back now,” he says, fumbling with his rifle. His eyes meet mine, and I realize what he’s saying. The clan will shun him for this single act of disobedience. He’s chosen me over them. It’s a sacrifice that’s become more dangerous than he realizes.

“We need to get going,” Mason says, throwing Jakob a disgruntled look. “You can brief him on the way if he insists on tagging along.”

“He’s already made his decision,” I say. “He’s coming with us.”

The sun blazes like an angry eye above the muscled peaks of the mountains. We march in silence for the most part, scouring the horizon for any hint of threat, until a deep rumbling fills our ears. For the next half a mile it grows louder until there’s no mistaking the boom of water crashing from a great height.

“Elk Creek Rapids,” Big Ed shouts over his shoulder.

I make my way over to the edge of the trail and stretch out my neck to take a look. Jakob comes up behind me and hooks a protective arm around my waist. I stiffen, until I remember that his parents are a long way from here. We’re both on our own now.

Fifty feet below us, white foam breaks like liquid crystal over the top of half-submerged granite boulders in the churning water.

I retreat a few feet, shaken by the brute power of the water. Big Ed waves us forward and points at a log cabin up ahead. “That’s the old Brody place. Follow me. We’ll fan out around the building, make sure the Rogues aren’t holed up inside before we cross the river.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I edge forward and scan the perimeter. Jakob takes off to the left of the building and I veer right. A stubby-legged toad shuffle-jumps up to me and studies me with lidded, glassy eyes. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t listened to so many of Big Ed’s ghost stories about bear grease and moonshine and buckets of fingers cut off at the knuckles. This old cabin has the feel of a place that’s swarming with ghosts.

I take a couple of tentative steps closer to the boarded-up cabin.

“Behind you,” a voice whispers in my ear.

I swing my rifle around, ready to unload a round.

“Easy! It’s me, Mason!”

“Idiot!” I hiss back angrily.

Mason clamps a giant paw over my mouth. He gestures in the direction of the shack.

I stay close behind him as we edge our way around the log exterior to the front porch. He scrapes up against the siding and I grope at a sheet of cobweb that cascades down behind him. I spit a clump of sticky web silk off my tongue, hoping there isn’t an irate black widow crawling over me. I’d sooner skin a rabbit than handle anything with more than four legs.

Mason jerks his thumb forward several times, then reaches for the elk-antler door handle, and raises the iron latch above it. He pushes against the wooden door with his hip. It gives easily—too easily for a log door swollen shut from disuse.

I follow him in, gun cocked and ready. Dust itches the lining of my nostrils. For an agonizing moment, I wrestle with a sneeze, before I manage to contain it.

Mason stands rooted in place, his broad back blocking my immediate view of the cabin’s interior. I follow the thin beam of his flashlight as he arcs it around, tracing the warped trusses above. I step to the side and flinch when something taps me on the back. When I swing around to take a look, a boot socks me in the mouth. I shriek and stagger backward.

I grip my gun and stare up in horror at a shadow dangling from the rafters. My knees almost buckle beneath me.
It’s Reid!
A handwritten sign strung from his neck reads: “Sweeper Snitch.”

Jakob and Big Ed come rushing through the door and freeze at the sight of Reid’s body still swaying to and fro. I clamp my jaw shut and steady myself on an old, wooden table, my fingers sinking deep into the mantle of dust coating it.

Big Ed rubs a hand over his brow. “This weren’t no random killing. That sign’s around Reid’s neck for a reason.”

Sweeper Snitch.
I think back to the angry exchange at our bunker the night before Frank died. Was the traitor Reid all along?

“Do you think Rogues did this?” I ask.

Big Ed runs a hand across his forehead. “Ain’t no Undergrounder kind of killing.”

Mason’s features are creased in concentration. He grabs Reid’s right ankle, spins it a few degrees as if he’s studying something, and then lets go with a grunt. He strides past us to the door, his face unreadable.

Big Ed gestures up at the rafters. “Do you want to bury him?”

I swallow back my discomfort and hoist my pack back on. “Not now. We need to find Owen.”

Big Ed stares at me, owl-eyed behind his tiny glasses. He wants me to get out of the shadows and lead, but now that I’m beginning to sound calloused, I don’t think he likes it.

Twenty minutes in, the trail curves down a narrow, rocky slope and begins to wind in a series of vicious switchbacks along the lip of a steep drop-off. We spread out, single file, Big Ed leading, Jakob taking up the rear. The lodgepole pines give way to an assortment of sagebrush and wild grasses worming their way through cracked granite boulders. Below, I can hear the crunch of rocks grinding each other into submission in the constant rush of the water. I concentrate on digging in my heels to keep from sliding on the slippery shale. Halfway down the trail, a chilling scream almost rips the hair off the back of my neck.

Tucker bolts into the forest and disappears. I turn in time to catch the glint of an articulated steel tube thrashing backward through the undergrowth.

Mason’s strapping forearm scoops me up from behind and we dive beneath a canopy of ferns. I lay there beside him, shaking like a dried-out sack of bones. The ferns part and Big Ed rolls heavily in beside us. “Sweepers,” he mutters.

I sit up and rock gently back and forth. “That was Jakob screaming,” I say in a far-flung voice I barely recognize as my own.

“Where’s Tucker?” Big Ed asks.

I make an incoherent sound at the back of my throat. “He bolted.” I clamp my hand over my mouth, half-afraid I might start sobbing and never stop.

Big Ed rubs my arm gently. “Tucker will be all right. He’ll head back to the bunker.”

“I don’t understand how they penetrated the forest,” Mason says. “They need clearance to hover.”

The knob in my throat shifts up and down. I blink, trying desperately to hold back my tears. How does he know that?
Mason knows a lot about military stuff.
Mason says it’s to absorb radiation.
Somehow he’s connected to this. I’ve felt it all along. I just can’t figure out how exactly. I wipe my eyes and fix a steely gaze on him. “How do you know so much about the ships?”

His features harden. “Educated guess. Hoverships need space to hover.”

“Maybe they’re using longer tubes,” Big Ed says, frowning. “That way they could be operating from outside the timberline.”

“We have to look for Jakob,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “He might still be out there.” I duck back out from underneath the ferns and begin making my way up the hill, shouting his name intermittently, swatting at the brush as I go by. Big Ed and Mason follow me, whistling on and off for Tucker. My vision blurs as my eyes fill with tears again. There’s no sign of either one of them.

“Take cover!” Mason yells up to me.

My heart jolts in my chest. I dive and roll beneath the brush, then watch with horror as a Sweeper ship glides overhead. After a few minutes, the leaves part and Mason and Big Ed throw their packs down beside me.

“You okay?” Big Ed asks.

I nod, glumly.

“They must have extracted him,” Mason says, frowning. “They wouldn’t have left otherwise.”

I chew on my bottom lip to keep from crying. “We need to figure out where they’re taking him.”

Big Ed shoots me a pitying glance. “How?”

“There must be a way,” I say. “How did Reid contact the Sweepers?”

“You don’t find the Sweepers, they find you,” Mason murmurs.

I kick at a clump of rotting wood in frustration. “Like you know what you’re talking about.” I jump to my feet and gulp down a sob. “I’m going after Jakob.”

An iron grip bores into my shoulder and spins me around. Mason stares at me, a flicker of something disturbing in his eyes. I tense my body, half-expecting his fist to explode into my cheekbone. Instead, he shoves me into the embankment and glares at me. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He reaches for his shotgun and loads a round into the chamber. Blood curdles in my veins.

Slowly, Mason brings his gun up and points the muzzle at the horizon before swinging around to face me.

“Reid didn’t contact the Sweepers. The Sweepers planted him in Frank’s camp.”

My heart pounds so hard it feels like a steel boot kicking my ribs. How could Mason possibly know that? Unless he’s one of them. I scoot backward without taking my eyes off him. Every suspicion I’ve ever had about him converges like a giant avalanche in my brain.

Big Ed slumps to one side, his jaw slack. He looks like he might be having a heart attack, but then I’ve never seen anyone having a heart attack so how would I know? All at once I realize he’s reaching for his knife, his shrewd gray eyes alert as a hawk beneath the brim of his hat. “Easy, Mason,” he says. “Let’s talk this over like reasonable men.”

Mason stares at him, expressionless. If he unloads a round into Big Ed first, I’ll have only a few seconds to grab my gun. I wish Tucker were here to set on him. I inch my way into a crouch, ready to dive and tackle him if I have to.

Mason’s eyes settle on me. A shade of a grin comes over his face. “I’m not one of them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I hold my position. That’s
exactly
what I’m thinking. I always knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

Big Ed removes his hat and runs his hand over his head. “You’ve been hiding something ever since you rolled into camp. If you’ve got something to say, now would be the time.”

Mason shrugs, leans his shotgun up against the dirt embankment and hunkers down, elbows resting on his knees.

“How much do you really know about the Sweepers?” I ask.

Mason flinches, his eyes boring into me like bullets.

I move back a little so I’m out of range of any sudden blows. His brows shift together in a heavy frown. “I know everything there is to know about them.”

In a flash, Big Ed wedges his burly body between us, his hunting blade glinting in the sunlight, pressed tight to Mason’s neck. “Dang, boy, who are you anyway?” He tightens his grip on the handle of his knife, forcing Mason’s head back. “I swear I’ll skin your hide right now if you don’t spill whatever it is you’re hiding.”

“I hate them as much as you do.” Mason’s eyes flick to me and then back to Big Ed. “I was their prisoner.”

I eye him warily, my brain fogged with confusion. No one escapes from the Sweepers. “I don't believe you."

Big Ed sheathes his knife. “Let’s hear him out. If he’s telling the truth, he might be the only hope we have of saving Jakob.”

I stare at Mason, my head spinning. He’s a wall of muscle, stronger than seems humanly possible.
Strong enough to break a Sweeper’s neck.
If he did escape, I’m going to need his help to find Jakob, no matter how much the idea repulses me.

Big Ed nods at Mason. “Explain yourself.”

Mason wipes a hand across his creased brow. “The Sweepers, as you call them, are scientists who’ve been working for decades in an underground government facility called the Craniopolis. It’s run by a man named Dr. Lyong.”

I stare at Mason in disbelief. The trembling whistle of a screech owl cuts through the evening air and I shiver. There’s been plenty of speculation in the bunkers about the origin of the Sweepers, but nothing even close to this.

Big Ed scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t get it.
You’re
a scientist?”

Mason forces a grim laugh. “Like I told you, I’m not one of them.” He turns aside and chucks a ball of spit into the dirt. “I’m their experiment.”

A clammy sensation fingers its way up my spine. I run my eyes over Mason’s thick jaw and bulging muscles, my mind racing. What does he mean by experiment?

Mason reaches for a sapling and begins stripping the bark from it. “The world government publicly denounced human cloning, but the truth is, they’ve been in a race to perfect the technique. Their goal was to rejuvenate declining populations by cloning the highly gifted for specific traits and purposes. They collected tissue and blood samples through mandatory universal healthcare examinations.”

“You mean … you’re a …” My voice trails off.

Mason nods. “A clone.”

Big Ed lets out a long, whistling breath through his teeth.

I slowly rub my temples in tiny circles. The grumping sound of bullfrogs reverberates between my ears as I try to make sense of what Mason is saying. It all seems so implausible. I start with the part that bothers me most. “So … you weren’t born?”

“Not like you were.”

I furrow my brow. “Are you some kind of machine?”

“Don’t be stupid. Do I look like a machine?”

I shrug. He feels like a slab of granite when you run into him. I’ve no idea what being a clone means. It’s unnatural.

“Reid and Becca were clones too,” Mason continues. “The scientists cryptogram our ankles; it’s like a branding tattoo that denotes the sector you were cloned for.” He reaches over and yanks up the leg of his khaki pants. Above his right ankle is a deeply incised charcoal circle with “M-041” in the center. “Military, placement 041,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Big Ed removes his spectacles and rubs his eyes. In the dim light of the rising moon, his face looks as old as corrugated tree bark.

“So if you’re military, what were Reid and Becca?” I ask.

“They were bootlegged clones. Not on the official roster.”

I wrinkle my brow. “What does that mean?”

“The scientists aren’t supposed to conduct any personal cloning of their own DNA, but they all do it. Bootlegging they call it. The official samples for the project are … were … extracted from selected specimens in various fields and industries.”