Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy (6 page)

“What happens if we don’t? Do we get kicked out?” Clay asked, picking up a book on military history and thumbing through it.

“Not really,” Riley said.

“What does that mean?” Clay asked angrily. This alternative universe thing was making him cranky.

“It means a few, like Rod, have come here and not gone with the program. They can’t go home, and Abacus doesn’t kick them out; he just asks that they do things around here to earn their keep. You know, cook, scavenge up top for clothes and supplies, that kind of thing. Usually they do it for awhile, but not going on missions, not being sold on the cause, makes them feel like outsiders, and they end up leaving.”

“Leaving?” Neahle asked. “Where do they go?”

Samson glanced at Riley, who nodded. “They go up top and try to live secretly. We know of four, including Rod. Two are dead, one got captured by the Firsts, implanted with a GPS tracker, and sent to work on a farm outside of Omaha. And Rod…”

“Rod,” Hannah said with disgust, “is missing.”

Chapter Seven

T
he kitchens had been set
up in a series of adjoining chambers running off the back of the living area. The last of the rooms had a tall ceiling with large crevices running across it, and the cooking area was set up here so that the smoke and heat were drawn off through them like chimneys. There was a large medieval-looking fireplace with a huge spit in the middle; several iron stands holding large pots were resting on the floor. A camp stove had been set up on another wall, a line of propane tanks trailing off beside it. On the third wall a stone oven had been built, the hot air, smoke and steam rising up through one particularly large crack in the roof.

Three people were cooking in the small space. A teenage girl with long black hair pulled back in a braid was monitoring bread in the oven. She turned and smiled when they came in, a bakers peel in one hand.

“Hey! I’m Sarah. Nice to meet you.” She had a ready grin, friendly blue eyes, and a tall, slim build. Her eyes were a startling sapphire blue.

“Marty,” the young man said, smitten. “How old are you?”

Laughing, the girl said, “Eighteen. You?”

“Me, too. Same. Uh, eighteen.” He mentally gave his forehead a smack. Why was he always such a doofus with girls?

Glancing with pity at her cousin, Neahle jumped in. “I’m Neahle, eighteen. This is my brother Clay, nineteen...”

“Almost twenty…” Clay grumbled.

“Almost twenty,” his sister agreed with a smile.

“Over there is Will. He’s thirty and our head chef,” Sarah said. A short Asian man with his long hair pushed behind his ears was stirring a large aluminum pot. He smiled at them and kept stirring.

“And that’s Kiara, turning the spit. She’s sixteen.” The girl’s skin was the color of bittersweet chocolate, her eyes an unusual amber. She grinned at them, her muscular arm turning the heavy iron spit over the fire, the meat on it sizzling and brown.

“We’re gonna have venison tonight—you got here at the right time! We don’t get deer very often, but Vasco and the boys brought one down on Guernsey. It’s a nice fat one. Should be just about done; just need Will to check it out,” Kiara said.

Will nodded but kept stirring. “He takes his sauce very seriously,” Sarah whispered.

“Let’s get out of their hair; looks like we’ve got a little while til dinner.” Samson led the way back through the cold storage room and the prep area. Neahle noticed baskets full of root vegetables, tomatoes, unshucked corn, and apples, alongside large plastic bins holding what appeared to be different grains and flour.

“Where does all this come from?” she asked.

“All over. Whenever we can, we bring fresh stuff back from our missions. Meat isn’t on the menu as much as most of us would like, but we eat it when we’re topside, so it’s not too bad. I brought back a bushel of apples last week when I went to Montreal,” Riley said as he picked a few out of a basket and handed them around.

“Montreal? Canada?” Mary asked.

“Yeah… You’ll see a map tomorrow. Probably best not to think about it tonight or you’ll never sleep. Jet lag’ll be hard enough to get over.”

“Jet lag? We didn’t fly anywhere,” Clay said, biting his apple and wiping juice from his chin.

“No, but you came from Eastern Daylight Time, right? Now you’re in Paris; we’re six hours ahead. That’s why we’re getting ready for dinner…” Riley took an enormous bite from his apple, savoring the crunchy sweetness.

Clay shook his head, overwhelmed and confused. They’d kayaked less than a mile, walked a few hundred yards, climbed through another hundred feet of pipe, and ended up six hours ahead, in a France that didn’t exist in his world. He took another bite of his apple. Maybe he’d been in an accident and this was all just a coma-induced dream. One could always hope.

The dining area was a wide passageway coming off the prep area of the kitchen. Rough tables and benches had been stretched down the center of the hall with enough seating for at least a hundred. Less than fifty gathered around the tables on the McClellands’ first night in Paris; all were welcoming. They were soon overwhelmed with names and stories, and were glad that they were seated together. The food was surprisingly delicious. Fresh loaves of bread were accompanied by butter. Will had made a red wine sauce with pearl onions, mushrooms, bacon and cream that was perfect with the gamey meat. Plates of grapes, apples, and berries were passed around.

Marty chewed his crusty bread thoughtfully. “They’ve got a pretty amazing set up down here,” he observed. “Fresh food, the air is okay, there’s apparently water for drinking and washing and bathing. Dorms, a library… It’s pretty sweet!”

“Sweet?” Clay asked in amazement. “We’re two hundred feet underground, apparently recruited to fight some kind of alien serial killers, and we can’t get home! How is that
sweet
?”

Neahle laid a hand on his wrist just above his tattoo. Her thumb rubbed the spot. “We’ll be okay, Clay,” she said quietly. “We just need to get our bearings. You know. Figure out what we’re supposed to do.”

Clay put his hand over hers for a minute, then pulled his arm away. “How do we know that what these people are saying is true? It’s nuts! And this Landon—who’s he supposed to be? How come he can leave here, and we can’t?”

“We’ll find more out tomorrow,” Marty said. “But we were
chosen
, dude. There’s something we can do here to make a difference in this rebellion thing, and that makes us special. I mean, Landon chose us for a reason, right?”

“Because we were the only ones stupid enough to follow the ducks…” Clay muttered, taking a large swallow of water from his mug.

The dorm was split in two, with females on one side of the passage and males on the other. Neahle hated being separated from her brother and Marty, those were the rules. She allowed Hannah and Sarah to bring her into the room they shared with six others. The walls were lined with bunks built of rough wood, but the mattresses were comfortable, the sheets soft and fresh smelling. Down comforters in all sizes and hues covered the beds. The room was chilly as was the entire subterranean dwelling; Neahle was thankful for the “Got Milk?” sweatshirt that Riley had found for her.

Sarah handed her a brown paper bag. Opening it, she found a toothbrush, toothpaste, and other necessary toiletries. Tears filled her eyes.

“I… I guess y’all are used to people getting here with just the clothes on their backs.”

Hannah gave her a quick hug. “Yep. You got here with less than most since you’d been swimming and all. But we’ve got a room full of clothes in all sizes and plenty of toiletries and things. Loads of shoes. You can go look tomorrow.”

Tears started streaming down Neahle’s face. “It’s all gone, isn’t it? Everything. My parents. My friends. My cat. School. College. My clothes…” She sat down hard on the bed, bending at the waist and burying her face in her hands. The loss hit her like a tsunami; she felt helpless against its force.

Exchanging a glance, the young women sat on either side of her and rubbed her back. Neither spoke for a long while, letting Neahle cry it out. Finally, Sarah rested her forehead on Neahle’s hair and spoke softly in her ear.

“Yeah… It’s all gone. I’m really sorry, Neahle, but at least we know exactly what you’re going through. And we’ll be here for you, I promise.”

Hannah hugged her. “We’ve all been forced to leave everything behind for this life. It sucks, I know. But there really is a payoff if you try to embrace life here. I promise.”

Neahle looked into her new friend’s pale blue eyes for a long moment then nodded. She couldn’t smile yet, but she could feel a shift starting deep within her.

Chapter Eight

T
he next morning, Clay was
awakened by nine men bustling around the room. Riley had slept in the bunk below; he now stood up and shook the mattress.

“Hey! Big news this morning—Landon’s here! Apparently not everybody gets to talk to him their second day. Better get up and eat so you can go meet him.”

“Great,” Clay mumbled, throwing his arm over his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Seven. So 1:00 in the morning your time. You’ll get used to it in a day or two. The best thing is to get up and get moving.” Riley threw a hoodie over his head and pulled it down.

Clay squinted at him. “What the heck does that say?” He rubbed his eyes but the shirt was still indecipherable.

“Одеський національний університет імені І. І. Мечникова” was written around a seal on the front of the shirt.

Riley looked down at himself. “I.I. Mechnikov Odessa National University.”

“Your alma mater?” Clay asked, swinging his legs over the side and hopping down. Riley laughed.

“Nah, it’s in the Ukraine. It’s one of our better tunnels and Odessa is basically deserted now, so we have our pick of stuff from the stores and shops. I got this from the University bookstore. We’ve got a dozen of them in the clothes room.”

“Why’s it deserted?” Clay asked, pulling on the jeans and flannel shirt Samson had given him last night. He scraped back his hair and wished for a shower.

“The Ukraine was one of those borderline places, not quite third world, not quite up to par with the civilized places. They used WMDs on the rural areas and let the damage from the EMPs take care of resistance in the cities. The population wasn’t totally wiped it out like they did most of Africa; once the people that were left were desperate, they moved them out, to Moscow mostly, but some to Istanbul.” Picking up a backpack from his bed, he tilted his head towards the door. “Better go. Your cousin’s already gone, checking everything out.”

“Of course he has,” Clay muttered, following Riley.

Breakfast was basic: hard boiled eggs, toast from last night’s leftover bread, butter, jelly, and cold slices of ham. There was also hot coffee with both sugar and milk, for which Marty was eternally grateful. Abacus had joined them for the meal, but neither his brother Vasco, who was rumored to have returned from a mission in the night, nor Landon followed suit.

Neahle sat with her hands cupping a coffee mug, eyes red and swollen. She’d obviously been crying. Clay had come in, grabbed two eggs, and stalked out, leaving her with Marty.