Escape to Eden (14 page)

“See you soon,” Colt says to Anthony. He walks toward me. Each of his steps are confident like he does this all of the time. I wish I felt the same way.

“Ready?” he asks me.

I nod and follow him into the shadows of the rising trees, their limbs twisting and turning in and out of each other. Before we disappear entirely, I glance back over my shoulder. Anthony waves, but Jenna’s staring straight ahead.

The trees are old in this forest, their branches so full of changing leaves that they block sunlight, preventing foliage from growing on the ground. This makes walking easy. Our pace is fast, and I almost have to jog to keep up with Colt’s long strides. The wristpad Anthony gave me displays our GPS position and the time. I can also use it as a phone and to search online, but I won’t be using any of those things for fear of being tracked.

“The entrance should be close,” I say, remembering how my father had me draw this exact same path multiple times. Actually walking this path, knowing where I’m headed, turns my blood hot. If my father knew something like this was a reality, why didn’t he take us to Eden?

Colt stops and looks around. “What is it we’re looking for again?”

“A tree trunk with a black skull painted onto the bark.” I keep walking, my eyes scanning the terrain.

“There,” I say and point. Not far away is a skull, partially faded, exactly where my father said it would be.

Colt goes to it first. He kicks at dirt and fallen leaves around the base of the tree until his foot hits metal.

“I can’t believe you know all of this,” he says, more to himself than to me.

I drop to my knees to help him unbury the hatch. “Let’s just hurry.”

Colt sweeps back a stack of fallen twigs and leaves with his forearm. “It looks like it was used recently, maybe in the last several weeks.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because all of this has been strategically placed here. If this hadn’t been used in a long time, roots and weeds would’ve grown over it.”

“But who would deliberately go down here?”

Colt’s gaze meets mine. “Why don’t you ask the man who led us here?”

“I will when I find him.” I’m surprised by the hardness in my voice. Maybe I’m angrier with my father than I think.

I bend next to Colt and grab a handle. I lift upwards, but it’s too heavy. I sigh and let go.

“It’s probably just stuck,” Colt says, and I appreciate his efforts at trying to make me feel better. He grips the center handle. “Ready?”

I nod and step back, shoving all nerves and doubt to the shadows of my mind. They sit next to dark thoughts of my father.

Colt opens the hatch; it creaks and groans, and I worry about the sound it’s making. Before it’s all the way open, a stench punches me in the face, and I turn away before I vomit. The smell reminds me of a dead, bloated seal I’d found once on the beach. It made me throw up then, and it’s all I can do not to throw up now. Colt is not so lucky. He turns his head and wretches next to the tree.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “Sorry, but that’s foul. I didn’t think anything could smell more rotten than this meat I’m carrying.”

“It’s probably worse inside. Breathe through your mouth.” I press a small button on my watch; a thin stream of light appears, and I point it down into the dark entrance. A rusted ladder leads to the ground.

“I’ll go first,” I say, but Colt stops me.

“Nope.” He jumps in before I can protest.

I join him at the bottom. I was right. The smell is worse, forcing me to cover my nose with the sleeve of my shirt. Colt has the face of his wristpad entirely lit up, more so than the single beam from mine. It acts like a flashlight and illuminates a good portion of the path in front of us.

The tunnel is wider than I expect, more than the length of my arm span. It’s held up by old wooden beams built into the ceiling every ten feet or so. Some of them are buckling under the weight, but at least it’s tall enough that Colt won’t have to duck.

Almost two centuries ago, these tunnels held large pipes as a way to deliver water to different parts of the city, but over the years, they were slowly eliminated when more efficient and cost effective ways were invented. For a time, many poor and homeless people lived in them, even improving their structure, but then Junks took over and the tunnels have remained theirs ever since.

“I don’t hear anything,” Colt says, “but there are vibrations.” He bends down and places his hand on the ground. “We’re definitely not alone.”

I swallow. “How far away?”

“Not far.” He straightens and tears off a strip of the inner lining of his jacket. He ties the material around the lower half of his face to cover his nose and says, “Have you ever seen a Junk?”

“My father had pictures.”

“Not the same. Whatever you do, don’t stare. Just remember your goal to save your brother. You want to cover your nose too?”

“I think I can handle it.” I take a deep breath through my mouth and start forward. Colt joins me. He lets me lead the way, but I stop whenever he tells me to so he can listen and touch the ground.

I consider us lucky as we’ve turned three corners and have yet to see a Junk. “Maybe we’ll go unnoticed.”

The Center isn’t far now. I’m about to suggest that we run when Colt grabs my arm hard and jerks me back into him. There’s a faint sound in front of us. It’s low and gargling, like the growl a pit bull might make if it were drowning.

Colt lowers his light toward our feet.

Another sound. The scurrying of feet. Many of them coming our direction. Snorts and more growls. My breathing quickens.

“Should we go back?” Colt asks.

My mind screams yes. I don’t want to see what’s coming, but I hear myself say, “No. Get the meat.”

Colt unzips the backpack pressed against his chest.

“Here,” he says and hands me a large, cold, wet slab of meat. By its texture it feels like beef, but by its scent it smells like road kill. Colt takes his own meat and steps in front of me, raising the light back into the tunnel.

The scurrying sounds grow louder, like we’re about to be trampled, but then the frenzied noise stops, leaving only a silent terror that pains my ears. There’s a corner up ahead. They are there, waiting. I don’t need Colt’s senses to tell me that. If we turn around and run, they will chase, but I can’t run. I can only go forward, toward my brother.

I glance at Colt. Even in the dim light I can see the tightness in his neck and shoulders. His Adam’s apple goes up and down as he takes a few steps forward. I stay close against his back. Very slowly, he turns the corner and shines the light, bathing the source of the quiet terror.

Light shines on three Junks, but there are more breathing sounds, soft, yet raspy, hidden within the shadows. The Junks are small, maybe to my waist, but their arms are long and almost to the ground. Their fingernails, however, do reach the dirt floor. They are thick, broken, and sharp, leaving a scar in the ground wherever they walk.

Pale, bloodshot eyes stare at me from inside sunken sockets. Noses are missing on all but one of them. Instead there’s only a hole and lines of cartilage, white as bone. Their skin is gray, some of it flaking off, exposing yellowed bone. Two of them have patches of brown hair, the other is bald. One opens his lipless mouth, but no words come out, only the gurgling sound I heard earlier. A greenish, watery substance spills out onto his bloated chest.

“Breathe,” Colt whispers.

It’s then that I realize I’m holding my breath. I gulp a sip of
air, wishing I would’ve remembered Colt’s advice not to look at them. Their images will forever haunt my dreams.

When the hairless Junk closest to me takes a step forward, I toss the bloody slab of beef in his direction. His long arm shoots out and snags the meat with his jagged fingernail and the meat dangles back and forth. This catches the attention of the other Junks, the ones hiding in the shadows. They rush forward, surrounding the one with the meat. They poke and snap at him, like birds attempting to steal another’s tasty worm.

“How are we going to get around them?” Colt whispers.

“Carefully and quickly,” I say and step toward my future nightmares.

L
et me go first,” Colt says, but I elude his grip and press my back to the wall. I need to share some of the risks. I slide forward, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The backs of the Junks are hunched over as they devour the meat. Small chunks are being tossed into the air only to be stabbed by the jagged nails of others. The light on my watch is dim, but I still catch splashes of red against gray skin. There’s so much blood that I wonder if some of them aren’t eating each other.

As visually disturbing as this is, the sounds are so much worse. It’s not the tearing of flesh or chomping of teeth that pains, but all of that mixed with what sounds like retching noises from the constant stomach bile coming up their esophagi. It turns my stomach and almost makes me vomit.

“Watch your foot,” Colt whispers.

I glance down. I’m within an inch of stepping onto the leg of a Junk who is on his belly. He is so still, I think he might be dead. I swallow and lift my leg over him, but just when I think I’m safe, my hand slides into a protruding chunk of dirt against the wall and dislodges it. It crumbles to the ground; the sound is enough to gain the attention of the Junks on the outer edge of the circle. They turn toward me, sharp teeth grinding against exposed jaws. One of them has blood dripping from his stained mouth.

My heartbeat skips and I freeze, afraid that if I even take a breath they will be upon me. A black tongue snakes out of a Junk’s mouth and licks the side of his cheek.

Colt tosses another chunk of meat to the ground. A few of them take the bait and the distraction is enough to get me moving
again. However, Black-Tongue is still staring. I think it is a girl by the amount of long, red hair still attached to her gray scalp. Her head cocks to the side, and I realize there is still a level of reasoning to her. Not like a human mind, but that of a predator. Unlike the others who seem to only care about survival, this girl sees the bigger picture.

Colt seems to notice too and pushes me to move faster.

The girl Junk with the black tongue takes hold of a nearby smaller Junk and steps toward us. My light flashes over the two, illuminating the fingernails of the smaller Junk, who also looks female, but I can’t be sure. Its nails have been filed to sharp points.

“Move!” Colt says, his voice low, but he might as well be shouting.

I bolt into the darkened tunnel, forgetting all about trying to be quiet. Colt is close behind me. The light from his wristpad flashes back and forth upon dirt walls, a dirt ceiling and floor. It’s all I can see and once again my chest tightens as the walls close in around me. I want to stop to catch my breath, but the scurried movements and liquid, ragged breathing of the two Junks behind us keep me moving.

“I hope you know where you’re going!” Colt says as he tosses back another chunk of meat, but the two don’t take the bait and continue their pursuit.

I take a left. I’m not consciously aware of where I’m going, but the layout has been so ingrained into me, I could do it in my sleep.

“We’re almost there,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.

Colt unsheathes two daggers from behind his back.

I take a right. It’s a dead end, but I know this. I skid to a halt and turn around. Colt does the same, a dagger in each hand.

The Junks slow to a walk. The black-tongued girl, who has more human-like features than the other, is smiling. Her friend is making a yelping sound, almost like a hyena, and I wonder if it’s laughter.

Black-Tongue pushes the other Junk forward. It stumbles toward us, hands raised, claws extended. It exhales, or sighs, and a mist of liquid sprays from its mouth.

Colt swipes a dagger at it, but it spins in the other direction.

“Dirty, disgusting things,” he says.

A flap of skin on the Junk’s forehead falls across its left eye. It reaches up and jerks it off before it lunges for Colt again. He jumps out of the way, but hits his head on the low ceiling, and the Junk almost catches the back of his leg. Colt swipes both daggers, this time nicking the Junk in the back of the head, but it’s not enough to slow it down.

“Hand me one,” I say.

Colt maneuvers in front of the Junk. “Stay out of this.”

I huff and look around for something I can use. Only dirt. More than enough. I scoop up two handfuls. A flash of Colt’s light catches the face of the black-tongued girl Junk. She’s staying back, watching me with thoughtful eyes. I make a mental note to be aware of her position.

While Colt continues to unsuccessfully jab at the Junk, I carefully approach from behind. The Junk runs and slides between Colt’s legs and closer to me. Colt moves to turn around, and, before I can react, the Junk slashes her hand just above Colt’s pant line, cutting his shirt. Colt looks down surprised, but not in pain.

With the Junk’s back to me, I shove the dirt in my hands down its throat. Combined with its stomach bile, the dirt turns to mud and the Junk coughs something fierce. Colt takes advantage and, just as I step back, stabs the dagger into the Junk’s heart. A muddy-looking, bubbly mess spills from the Junk’s mouth and onto her skinless chin.