Authors: Norma Hinkens
I
grip
my gun so tightly my knuckles feel like they’re about to burst. Jerome looks straight at me, his coffee-colored eye begging me to understand, to forgive him for something I can’t quite grasp yet.
“Wait a minute!” the red-haired woman shouts up. “We should get to decide who leads us.”
The crowd shifts uneasily, clamoring for an explanation.
Jerome holds up his hands again to placate them. “Whistler’s right,” he says. “It was wrong of me to ask you to follow a deviation. If I expire at a critical juncture on this mission, I could endanger all of your lives. And Lyong will show no mercy to anyone serving under a wanted deviation.” He pauses, and gives a heavy sigh. “You will leave tonight as planned, but under Whistler’s command. I will stay behind and ensure the city remains operational.”
Discontent oozes from every corner of the hall, but Whistler starts barking out orders and the crowd begins to disperse under the sway of the fatigue-clad Undergrounders.
I elbow my way over to Jerome. “What are you doing?” I hiss at him.
He flicks a quick glance Whistler’s way. “They’re holding Blackbeard at the clinic,” he says in a low voice. “Whistler threatened to kill him—he might be dead already for all I know. I had no choice but to go along with this sham for now.”
My mind reels. I rub my fingers across my brow desperate for a flash of inspiration. We have to win the balance of power back from Whistler before the deadline with The Ghost. Whistler has no idea who he’s going up against.
“Got a problem with something,
partner
?” Whistler asks, coming up alongside me. He gives me a sly smile and drapes an arm over my shoulder.
I shrug him off. “You’re making a huge mistake,” I say. “We need Jerome’s expertise on this mission. And the people listen to him.”
Whistler’s smile fades. “He might have sold you that line, but I know better. Deviations have no value, inside the Craniopolis or out. All we need is the clone. Now get your pack and come with me. It’s time to go over our strategy.”
I reach for my pack and hoist it over my shoulder as Whistler heads for the door.
“Send someone to find Sven and have him meet me at the clinic in ten minutes,” I whisper to Jerome in passing.
I motion to Trout and Jakob, and we follow Whistler and his guards out of the main hall and back down the corridor to Jerome’s office.
“Before we discuss anything, I want to see Blackbeard.” I say.
Whistler stops rummaging through a drawer, and eyes me suspiciously.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I know you’re holding him.”
An irritated look comes over Whistler’s face. “Don’t worry about him. He’s being well looked after. Now let’s get on with it. I need you to bring me up to speed on the plan so far.”
I set my jaw. “Not until I see for myself that Blackbeard’s all right.”
Whistler slams his palms hard on the table. “You’ll just have to trust me that he’s fine.”
I stick my face up close to his. “I don’t trust anybody until they’ve proven themselves. Either you take me to Blackbeard or you’re not in on the plan.”
Whistler takes a step backward, glances uncertainly from me to Trout, then across at his men. “Take her to the clinic and then bring her straight back.”
“No,” I say. “We’ll
all
go. I don’t trust you out of my sight yet.”
A flicker of anger crosses Whistler’s face. “We’re running out of time, and we still have to get the Undergrounders organized.”
“Yeah well, you wanted the job with the big office, so deal with it.”
Whistler glowers at me. “You get two minutes to make sure he still has a pulse, and then we make tracks.”
W
hen we reach the clinic
, Whistler rests one leg on the retaining wall outside and gestures for me to go in. “Two minutes,” he says. “We’ll be waiting.”
I push open the door and enter the foyer. Trout and Jakob follow me inside. I’m expecting to encounter a few more fatigue-clad Undergrounders assigned to guard Blackbeard, but there’s no one inside. “Doc?” I call out.
“He’s probably in the back,” Jakob says.
The front door opens again and Whistler looks around suspiciously. “Where are the guards?” he asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice. His men trade wary glances as they follow him inside.
“There’s no one here,” I say.
Whistler jerks his head around to confirm. He mutters something to the guards, then loads a round in his rifle. He wets his lips, then slowly opens the door leading to the examination rooms and slips inside the hallway. A moment later, there’s a dull thud. Before the guards have a chance to make a move, Sven’s massive frame fills the doorway. He pans his weapon slowly around the room, an unconscious Whistler tucked under his left arm. The guards freeze, their eyes darting to me for direction.
“Put down your guns.” I say, relief flooding through me. “This is where Whistler’s little stunt ends.”
Without hesitation, they crouch down and lay their rifles at their feet. Trout motions them to the back of the room and stands guard over them.
I throw Sven a grateful smile. “Wasn’t sure you’d get the message in time,” I say when he walks up to me.
He shoulders his rifle. “I just got here a few minutes ago, right about the time a couple of fatigue-clad Undergrounders tried to kick the doctor out. I knocked them out cold, they’re tied up in the supply closet.”
“And the doctor?” I ask.
Sven grins. “He’s got his hands full back there persuading Blackbeard to let him check his vitals. Blackbeard wanted in on the action, got his blood pressure up.”
“What about Nikki?”
Sven looks at me, puzzled. “What about her?”
“She’s back there too, right?”
Sven shakes his head. “Just Blackbeard, far as I know.”
My stomach tightens. The look of dread in Jakob’s eyes tells me he’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.
“Stay with Trout,” I say to Sven. “I need to make sure Nikki’s not back there in one of the other rooms.”
Jakob and I dart down the short corridor to the room we left her in. The bed is empty. My scalp prickles. We run next door, then check several more rooms, before reaching Blackbeard’s room. “Where’s Nikki?” I yell to the doctor who’s standing by his bed.
He pulls the stethoscope from his ears. “They let her go,” he says, frowning.
“Who? Whistler’s men?”
He nods. “I tried to reason with them, but they didn’t want anyone else back here with Blackbeard.”
My brain fills with static.
Blackbeard trains his shrewd eyes on me. “She was rabbiting on about joining the mission. Probably gone by her place to grab her pack. You might still catch her if you hurry.”
I give him a grateful nod. “Jerome could really use your support at the courthouse after what went down.”
The doctor makes a disapproving sound. “He shouldn’t be going anywhere yet.”
“I’ll be fine,” Blackbeard says, getting to his feet. “You have two new patients to worry about now anyway. I’m willing to bet those Undergrounder guards Sven socked in the head have some serious concussions.”
The doctor sighs and pockets his stethoscope. “Very well, but keep an eye on the wound. And don’t even think about joining the mission. You need to stay here under medical supervision.”
“We’ll meet you back at the courthouse,” I say to Blackbeard, raising my brows in conspiratorial fashion.
Jakob and I exit the room and head back out to the foyer.
“We still have time to make the deadline with the Rogues if we hurry,” I say to Trout. “Take the guards and Blackbeard with you, and tell Jerome to resume leadership and assemble the Undergrounders.”
Trout frowns. “Where are you going?”
“Nikki’s disappeared. Jakob and I will meet you back at the courthouse as soon as we’ve tracked her down.”
I turn to Sven. “You got Whistler covered?”
He grins. “I’ll add him to my collection. Rummy and Sook are tied up back at the rider’s barn. I didn’t want to leave Rummy in his cell after that last meeting. I was afraid he might have been able to persuade one of those rabble rousers to free him. I’ll round them all up and bring them to the courthouse.”
“Give Tucker some loving from me,” I add, wistfully. I wish I didn’t have to leave him behind, but it wouldn’t be fair to put him through what lies ahead.
Sven smiles, his amber eyes softening. “You know it.”
I can’t help envying Tucker the chance to snuggle into Sven’s broad chest, but I push the thought away. It’s far too distracting right now.
T
he door
to Nikki’s apartment is lying open when we get there, but the place is deserted. We take a quick look around, but I already know it’s useless.
“Her pack’s gone,” Jakob announces, grimly.
I blow out a frustrated breath. “She’s probably on her way to the courthouse. Let’s leg it back over there.”
Jakob says nothing, but I can tell by his harrowed expression that he’s not relishing having her along, especially as he volunteered to keep an eye on her. And now I’ll have to hold him to it. Given her current state of mind, she could screw up everything.
Outside the courthouse, the riders’ horses are lined up along a wooden post, snorting and pawing at the dirt, as if sensing peril in the air. When I look at them, they neigh and turn away, searching for the familiar faces of those they trust. I can’t help but respect the questioning look in their eyes. They follow their instincts; I’ve learned it’s how I operate best too.
At the far end of the hitching post, I notice a rope tossed in an untidy heap in the dirt. I frown at it, an uneasy feeling worming its way into my crowded thoughts.
Inside the courthouse, Jerome has already divided the Undergrounders into their assigned groups. Emboldened by Blackbeard’s presence, he barks out rapid-fire orders, and the Undergrounders promptly comply. Apparently, the sight of his right-hand man back on duty has sealed Jerome’s position as leader in their minds. The air is electric and charged. I pan the crowd, searching for Nikki’s face, but there’s no sign of her.
Blackbeard slides his gaze in my direction and tilts his head. It’s the most unprompted attention he’s ever directed my way, so I take it as a sign of acceptance, at last.
“The Undergrounders are ready when you are,” Jerome says. “Do you want to say a few words before we leave?”
I walk to the front of the room and raise a hand for silence. A ripple of anticipation runs through the crowd. I gaze out at their animated faces with a heavy heart, and snatch a quick breath before I begin. “Tonight we march to end the madness that has become our world. We don’t march to war, because we’re already at war. The Sweepers have set themselves up above all others, above the weak, and above the defenseless. Don’t be afraid of them. Instead, be brave for your fellow Undergrounders, for future generations who deserve to be born free instead of generated under the glare of laboratory lights.”
I pause and look around the room. Every eye is fixed on me, waiting for me to continue.
“We must see the Sweepers for who they are—monsters who will continue to spill innocent blood and mutilate lives if we don’t destroy them. Give your all, no matter the odds. We will not surrender.”
I pause and survey the room once more. For a moment I wonder if I have reached them. They look fixedly forward, their expressions unyielding. Then the room erupts. Boots stamp in time, shouts ring out around me, and bursts of applause echo from one end of the meeting room to the other.
I turn to Jerome and give a curt nod. “They’re ready.”
U
ndergrounders spill
down the courtyard steps into the gathering shadows. It’s almost eleven o’clock. Mosquitos flit by, making fast landings, siphoning off blood that might well be spilled before the night is done. Tucker would be snapping at them with glee if he were here. I wish more than anything, that I could bring him, but I almost lost him once in the Craniopolis, and I can’t take that chance again.
We swarm toward the main entry, adrenalin pumping through our veins. Jerome yells up at the guards to open the container gate.
“But the rider isn’t back yet,” one of them calls down from the watchtower.
“What rider?” Jerome shouts.
The guard throws a wary glance at us.
A creeping realization that something is wrong hushes the group.
“The one you sent out with a message for The Ghost,” he says.
A
rod
of fear shoots up my spine. My eyes lock with Jakob’s and I see my own terror reflected there.
“Who was the rider?” Jerome demands.
The guard shifts uncomfortably. “Couldn’t say for sure with the cowboy hat and bandana over her face. Said you gave her an urgent message to take to the Rogues.”
My brain pounds against my skull. I turn and elbow my way through the crowd of Undergrounders to the riders at the back.
“Wait for me!” Jakob says, pushing through after me.
“Jody!” I yell to her. “Are all the riders accounted for?”
She reins in her horse and trots over to us. “The riders are all here, but one of the horses is missing.”
I turn to Jakob, my eyes sweeping his for reassurance. “You don’t really think …”
He reaches for my wrists and pulls me close. “It could have been her. You know she’s not in her right mind.”
“Neither is The Ghost,” I say, choking out the words. I shrink back from the wary looks of the Undergrounders and riders around us. For their sakes, as much as for Owen's, I need to find Nikki before anything happens to her. Hope is the only thing that will carry us through the next few days, and they need to see I can deliver on it.
“I think it was Nikki who stole the horse,” I say to Jody. “Can you send a rider ahead to see if you can catch her?”
Jody gives a grim nod. “I’ll send Ida out as soon as the gate’s been opened.”
I squeeze out a grateful smile, then turn and push my way back through the sea of Undergrounders with Jakob. Jerome is deep in conversation with Trout and Blackbeard. He looks up and pulls his brows together questioningly.
“I think it was Nikki,” I say in a grim tone. “As soon as we open the gate Ida will gallop ahead and try and catch her before the Rogues intercept her.”
Jerome blinks, a grave expression on his face. We both know the chances of Ida reaching Nikki first are slim, but it’s all we can do. He turns and signals to the guards in the watchtower. One of them waves a gloved hand in acknowledgement. My heartbeat races as I watch them crank the pulleys. There’s no turning back now.
The container gates slowly creak open in front of me, and I swallow back my trepidation as the yawning wasteland outside the city comes into view once more. I take a quick breath, and wave the Undergrounders forward. My legs feel like lead beneath me, but I force them to pump.
Jerome and Blackbeard march to my right, carrying on a low conversation with the Undergrounders directly behind them. Trout looks preoccupied, brows pulled tight together. On my left, Jakob pans our surroundings for any sign of Nikki, a resolute expression carved into his pale face.
Behind me the beat of the horses’ hooves lends a false comfort to my ears, as if these giant beasts could rise up and trample the Rogues if need be. In reality, I know the Rogues will mow them down in a hail of bullets if things go awry. The weight of responsibility for these innocent beasts is almost as hard to bear as that of the lives of the Undergrounders around me. I only hope the hostages we’re bringing with us will be enough to convince The Ghost to join forces with us.
It’s dark out now, and thick clouds veil what little light the pale moon offers. As we tread closer to the tree line, my ears pick up on the distant night chatter of the forest; crickets and bullfrogs jockeying for position like ground troops, the hoots of winged predators flying recon missions above them. In my mind, I rehearse a string of different introductions to The Ghost, none of which paint a satisfying picture of me as the gutsy leader of a valiant Council of Undergrounders. Truth is, it’s not me who’ll sway him, it’s what I have that he wants. And I’m going all in on that bet. Still, I can’t help wishing Sven were right by my side, instead of behind—
I freeze, one foot in mid-air at a rustling sound up ahead. Three Rogues appear like specters from the forest, shocking me out of my reverie. They stand in our path like a ghostly trinity, a pitchfork of doom pointed directly at us. A cold draft crawls up my neck. For several long minutes, no one moves. Then, they begin walking toward us, long, easy strides—too casual a gait to be trusted. I finger my weapon for reassurance and throw a quick glance around the brush, looking for the rest of the Rogues. Why don’t they show themselves? I’m more rattled by three lone figures strolling nonchalantly toward us than if a pack of Rogues were bearing down on us. It doesn’t make sense. And that’s a red flag.
Jerome shines a beam over their faces. I immediately recognize Blade on the left, and a shudder runs through me at the cruel curl of his lip. I’ve never seen the Rogue on the right before, but as soon as I set eyes on the figure in the center I know without a doubt I’m looking at the man they call The Ghost.
My heart thumps. I mouth a frantic pep talk to myself and square my shoulders as the three Rogues draws closer. Tall and lean, The Ghost is extraordinarily good-looking, electrifying almost—except for his eyes, vacant halos staring out from an empty soul. I swallow hard. He has the eyes of a man who has lost his way so long ago, he no longer feels anything. I fear Rummy was telling the truth.
I shiver when he comes to a halt in front of me, the ice water in his veins chilling my core. He takes a sudden, deep breath that rumbles in the back of his nose, like a beast grunting contempt at my presence. A bored smile briefly dissects his face before he turns his attention to Jerome. He scans his rippled skin carefully, his face expressionless. “Cutting it a little close to our deadline, aren’t you?” he says, his gravelly voice a paralyzing mixture of charm and reproof.
“City business to attend to,” Jerome replies, gripping the hand The Ghost shoots out to him.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” The Ghost says, turning to me.
I open my mouth, and then close it again. I don’t want to sound like I’m defending myself. Until we know where we stand, and what he wants from us, we need to keep our guard up. If Rummy was right about The Ghost being a psychopath, then his smooth demeanor is merely a manipulative cloak to lull his victims with before he strikes.
“I don’t like to be rushed,” I reply, staring back at him defiantly.
His features harden over like steel. “I’m glad we understand each other so well.” His eyes beam around the group and light on Rummy. He lifts one brow in mock greeting, but I catch the sliver of hatred that ripples beneath his stony expression. He walks over and takes Rummy’s face between both hands, squeezing it in a phony show of camaraderie. A contemptuous smile leaks over The Ghost’s inked features. I picture Rummy’s face smashed like a post-Halloween pumpkin. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I trade a loaded look with Trout, but before we can intervene, Rummy backs up a step and twists his head out of The Ghost’s hands.
A sneer flicks across The Ghost’s lips, and then he turns and walks back to me again. His crushing hand grips me by the shoulder. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Where … is … he?”
My breath rattles in my throat. “Who?” I ask.
The Ghost’s eyelids close to half-mast. He taps his fingers on my shoulder, studying me for a moment. “The bootlegged freak. Our ticket to the kingdom.”
“Sook’s back there.” I gesture behind me at Sven, standing head and shoulders above everyone else. “With the clone.”
The Ghost knots his brow and peers at Sven more closely. “Military?”
I give a reluctant nod. Blade must have told him everything.
The Ghost throws me a conspiratorial look. “Engineered to kill. We can put him to good use.”
I tighten my jaw. “He’s a free man, like any other Undergrounder or Rogue who fights with us.”
He snorts. “None of us are free. That’s why you’re here. You want to change the world, like every other dreamer before you.” The Ghost cracks his knuckles. “Follow me.”
Blade and the third Rogue turn heel and fall in on either side of him, their M-16s slung casually over their shoulders.
Jerome signals to the Undergrounders behind us that we’re moving. “At least The Ghost’s willing to talk to us,” he says. “So far, so good.”
“Let’s hope that’s what this means,” Trout adds, a perturbed look on his face.
I do a quick gut check as we march into the deepening dusk. On the surface, our first encounter with The Ghost has gone much more smoothly than I thought it would. Too smoothly. I can’t believe he came out to meet us with only two of his men in tow—almost as if he wanted to underline the fact that we don’t even register as a threat.
“What do you all make of him?” Jakob asks in a low voice.
“He’s clever, and gutsy—showing up with only Blade and one other guy,” Trout replies, echoing my own assessment.
Jerome grunts. “Probably has a marksman behind every other tree out there.”
I steal a quick glance around the pines and tangled undergrowth. Jerome could be right. After all, The Ghost trusts no one.
W
e walk
about a mile in total to the Rogues’ camp, a smattering of threadbare tents and disbanded packs nestled in a hollow between two copses of trees. My eyes skim over the shaved heads clustered around several crackling campfires. The tantalizing smell of rabbit stew fills my nostrils.
The Ghost motions to us to sit down. “We expected you earlier.” He flashes a cold smile. “I prefer to negotiate over a meal.”
Jerome slides me a wary glance, then sinks down on a mossy bank nearby. Trout, Jakob, and I throw off our packs and follow suit. A mustached Rogue comes over and plants a pot of stew and a large jug of water on the ground between us. He drops several ladles into the pot and walks off without a word of greeting.
“Eat!” The Ghost gestures to the food. His lips are carved into a stiff half-moon smile, but his eyes radiate a disturbing chill, as if something’s brooding below the surface.
Trout reaches for the pot of stew and ladles out a generous helping for himself.
The Ghost sits down and leans back, whistling a vaguely familiar tune.
“Before we get down to business,” I say, frowning at him, “did you, or any of your men, see a rider this evening?”
The whistling fades to silence. The Ghost throws me an irritated look, rubs his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you ask?”
“We’re missing someone.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “How can you be missing someone? You only left the city a couple of hours ago.”
“She left ahead of us without telling anyone,” Jakob interjects.
The Ghost gets to his feet and paces back and forth. “So we have a defector at large, who answers to no one, and endangers our position.”
Jakob shoots me a helpless look. I blow out a shallow breath. We need to find Nikki, and soon, but if The Ghost thinks she’s a defector, he might order his men to eliminate the problem. “She’s not a defector. Nikki’s sick,” I say. “She shouldn’t even be on this mission. But she’s desperate to get to the Craniopolis. Someone she loves was extracted.”
I flinch when The Ghost lands a savage steel-toed kick at the pot of stew. I let out a yelp as a few drops of hot liquid splatter over me. I stumble backward and stare at him, wide-eyed. His thin face is flushed and buckled with rage, hard ridges pulsing in his tattooed neck. “People who love endanger others with their neediness.” He snaps his neck straight and stares at me. “Weakness at its worst.”
His flashing eyes knife me with contempt, but I force myself to stare him down. “Love can also give us strength,” I say. “It makes us hunger all the more for freedom.”
The Ghost curls his fingers into his fists and turns aside, as though wrestling with some emotion. When he looks up again, the monster has departed.
“Speaking of freedom,” he says, “it’s time we went over the plan to take the Craniopolis.” He frowns and throws a quick look around the camp. “Bring the clone here,” he says to one of his men. He sits back down and stares fixedly at me.
My skin crawls under his scrutiny. I make a point of ignoring him and exchange a few insipid remarks with Trout and Jerome until Sven appears. A twisted smile appears on The Ghost’s lips when Sven squeezes into a spot beside me. I run my finger along the inside of my collar, increasingly uncomfortable under The Ghost’s relentless scrutiny.
He clicks his teeth together and surveys us with an air of satisfaction. “Now that we’re all here,” he says, “let’s go over how we execute this attack you’ve been planning.”
Jerome leans forward. “Infiltration is not a problem. Sven and I have contacts on the inside.”
Sven nods in affirmation.
A slash of a smile appears on The Ghost’s face. “So the clone just rings the doorbell and they let him back in?”
I throw him a scathing look.
“We’ll use the tunnel I escaped through,” Jerome says. “The Schutz Clones filled it back in, but it’s a superficial seal, couple of feet of dirt, easy enough to dig out.”
“Guards?” The Ghost says, drumming his fingers on his knee.
“Two Schutz Clones stationed at the entrance to the Biotic Center,” Sven replies. “My men on the inside will create a diversion to distract them, and then take them down and don their uniforms. That will buy the rest of the clones enough time to open up the tunnel.”
The Ghost nods. “And then we move into position.”
“That’s phase two,” I say, throwing a glance Jerome’s way. “Phase one is evacuating the deviations.”
The Ghost’s face contorts in an expression of disgust. “There is only one phase,
war
. There will be no evacuations. Anyone who wants to come out with us, fights with us.”
“I’m spearheading this mission,” I say. “I decide who fights.”
The Ghost throws back his head and lets out a biting laugh. When he straightens back up, his expression is a mask of control. “You came to me for help, not the other way around, so here’s how this is going down. The clone and the deviation will take us to the Craniopolis. The Rogues will lead the attack. And you will order the Undergrounders to fight under my command.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” I say.
The Ghost gets to his feet, smiling even as the light leaves his eyes. “I think you will. That is, if you ever want to see your crazy cowgirl again.”