Escape to Eden (31 page)

“The signs are all over,” he says. “For the first time in my life, I regret being famous.”

I slide back into the alley. “Can I see my pack?”

Tank moves with me and removes the bag off of his shoulder. “It will probably be a little easier from here on out, now that I’m not carrying you, which is what blew our cover in the first place.”

While I search my bag, I ask, “How was Max doing last time you saw him?”

“Really good. Colt has a way with him. I think Colt wanted to be the one to take you, but Max wouldn’t go to anyone else.”

“I’m glad he’s with Max.” I find what I’m looking for and pull out a black pen and the rain poncho I used earlier.

“What do you need those for?”

I don’t answer right away as I’m busy tearing at the yellow poncho until it’s shaped into a large square. “Come here,” I say.
“We need to give you a disguise.” I fold the square material in half so it’s the shape of a triangle and stands up. “You’re too tall. Bend over so I can get at your head.”

He gets on his knees and still has to lower his head for me to reach him. While I secure the makeshift bandana over his hair, he says, “I doubt this will work. Everyone knows me, especially women. They’ll spot me a mile away even if I’m invisible.”

I cinch the ends of the bandana tight at the base of his neck. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

He straightens. “Do what?”

“Act like that.” I take the pen and start darkening his blond eyebrows.

Tank’s quiet for a moment, then says, “How do you know it’s an act?”

“I saw you with Ash. You care for her. A lot.”

His eyebrows draw together, making me nearly give him a unibrow. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Why do you do it?” I say. His eyebrows relax, and I return to the task of transforming him into someone else.

“I found early on that when I act like a chauvinistic pig, people tend to dismiss me. It has helped me fly under the Institute’s radar.”

“Well now that you’ve run right through it, you can drop the act. I’m sure Ash will appreciate it as much as the rest of us.”

He smiles. “I’ll work on it.”

I lean back and take a look at him. With his bright hair covered and his brows darkened, he looks like he could be a relative of Tank’s. “Not bad.”

He stands and looks at his blurry reflection in the side of the metal building. His black pants are tight, but not as tight as his white shirt. I don’t know how he wears clothes like that. It would drive me crazy.

“It might work, but what about you?” Tank asks.

I’m already pulling my blond-streaked hair into a high ponytail. “I still have the colored contacts, and I’ll wear my sweatshirt with the hood up. It’ll have to work.”

“No hood. It will draw attention. Your picture isn’t out there yet so you should be fine with colored contacts.” I put them in and
he looks me over. “You have anything better to wear? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

I glance down at my blue long-sleeved shirt and black sweat pants. Not a whole lot I could do to make them better.

“Try this,” Tank says. He takes hold of my right sleeve and tears it off, exposing my shoulder.

“Hey!” I say, but he’s already tearing at the other one.

He hands the torn material to me. “Take these sleeves, roll them up, and wear them as bracelets. As for your pants, can you push them up to your knees?”

I do as he says, tearing off the bandage from the back of my calf as I do so. The wound is almost healed. I glance down at my entire outfit. “It looks dumb.”

“Fashion these days is dumb, but at least you’ll blend in,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

I stretch my arms. “Not bad.”

“Good. We’re going to move fast but inconspicuously. It’s about three miles to your father.” My heart skips a beat. “The others should be waiting for us. Ready?” He moves to turn around, but I stop him.

“What about the Canine?”

He looks at me, his eyes serious like he’s trying to decide whether or not to tell me the truth. I make it easy for him. “I won’t go if there’s a risk to the others.”

“Then we’ll have to draw him out. The trick is getting him away from the Institute’s henchmen who will surely be with him. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight them all. Let’s go.” He pulls me onto the street. I walk quickly to catch up to him, eyes downcast.

“Try and act normal,” he says. “Not so . . . you.”

I clear my throat and raise my chin. Act like someone else. Be someone else. I say these words in my head over and over until I think I believe them. The sun is all but gone from the city. Its fading light reflects off the sides of metal buildings, sending rays of sunshine bouncing through the streets. I meet people’s gaze as I pass. I am one of them. A few smile back at me. I belong.

“If we can get the Canine alone, I know I can kill him,” Tank says after we’ve traveled a few blocks.

It’s less crowded here. By the looks of it, we’ve migrated into a business district with warehouses that have already shut down for the day. A smell like rotting meat fills the air, forcing me to breathe with my mouth open. Off to my right is a food recycling plant, most likely the source of the putrid aroma.

“It will probably take me a few minutes though,” Tank continues, “which we won’t have. Not only that, but it will draw attention we don’t want.”

“We need to become invisible. The Canine too.” I look around, my mind working quickly. What would my father suggest? I step over a sealed manhole and stop.

“What is it?” Tank asks.

“The underground tunnels. I need access to a computer.” I hurry over to the nearest building and peek in a dusty window. I can barely make out what looks like machines for an auto mechanic shop.

“The tunnels?” Tank says over my shoulder. “You’re not thinking of going in there, are you? Because that would be suicide.”

I step back and glance at the next building over. A sign above the door reads: Mike’s Packaging and Shipping. “It’s not suicide. I’ve done it before,” I say and walk over to the door.

Tank follows after me. “But that was in Boston. New York is a whole other beast. There are more Junks and who knows what else living down there.”

“The Mutant Alligators,” I say as I turn the doorknob. “They’re a legend.” The door’s locked.

“You don’t know that, but even if it is, Junks are real and there’s probably hundreds if not thousands down there.”

I turn around, almost running into him. “Can you open this for me? I need to get inside.”

Tank glances around before settling his gaze on me. “You’re not listening.”

“No, you’re not listening. Just trust me on this. I only need five minutes with a computer. If I can’t find a way to make my plan work, then we’ll move on.” He searches my eyes as if looking for ways to break through my resolve. I lift my chin to let him know it’s impermeable.

He reaches behind me and turns the knob until it snaps, along with three other locks that must’ve been holding the door secure. It’s a good thing Tank is with me since I don’t think even Colt could’ve opened it.

“Hurry,” Tank says. “Who knows when the Canine might show?”

I nod and rush inside to the nearest metal desk. I slide my fingers across the top until a holographic blue screen appears in front of me. An electronic voice says, “Say password.”

I don’t need to see the company’s files. I cross both fingers tightly and say, “Bypass. Go online.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when the screen spins, a spectrum of translucent colors whirling in front of me, until it settles onto several 3D images of cats. Some are walking in tight loops while others lick their fur. A plain brown one, smaller than the rest, is chasing its tail.

It strangely reminds me of myself.

“What a stupid home screen,” Tank says over my shoulder.

With a swipe of my finger, the cats disappear. “Search tunnel blueprints of New York City,” I command to the computer.

The holographic screen spins again. When it stops, the electronic voice says, “Tunnel blueprints displayed by date.” A long list appears. The most recent one is from thirty years ago. I click on it and then expand the next screen as wide as it will go, which is the whole length of the desk and almost as tall as Tank. I stand up to get a better look at the image.

Tank moves close and, after inspecting the screen, says, “I think we’re somewhere in here.” He points to the top left of the screen.

“How can you tell?”

His finger moves to the bottom. “See this giant circle? This is the city’s water storage. And up here, where there are fewer manholes,” his hand moves through a series of what look like long pipes, but I know are really tunnels, “is the business district. If I were to guess, this one,” he taps on a small yellow circle, “is the manhole just outside this building. Or maybe this one.”

I study the map. The business district has several tunnels
crossing in and out of each other. Each manhole is almost half a mile apart. “Can you tell where my father is located?”

Tank snakes his finger around the holographic screen and stops at the bottom, near the center. “Here. About two miles away.”

“And the Canine will be coming from the direction we just came from.” I walk around the desk and look outside the only window in the room. Night is fully upon us. We can use it to our advantage.

“What are you thinking?”

“I say I confront him outside.”

“What do you mean ‘I’? What happened to ‘we’?” He motions his hand back and forth between us.

I return to the blueprints. “Just go with me on this.” I point to the manhole just outside the building. “I wait for him here. When I see him coming, I’ll make sure he sees me too. Then I’ll jump in the manhole and run to this one, where you’ll be waiting to pull me out.”

“And then I’ll kill the Canine when he comes through? I don’t get it. It won’t give me any more time than if you were to run on the street toward me.”

“I’m not looking for more time. I’m trying to make the Canine disappear.”

“By trapping him in the tunnels.” He considers this for a moment then says, “There’s a chance the Canine will have a tracker on him so even if he goes into the tunnel, the Institute can still find him.”

“I’ll take that chance. Besides, it’ll be a dead body they find.” I cross the room and open the door.

“How can you be so sure? Junks could be on the other side of the city.”

“Not when I’m finished. In a couple of hours, the tunnels will be drowning in Junks.”

T
his is such a bad idea,” Tank says, while he lowers down another bucket of rotten meat into the manhole.

I’m not looking when I take it and almost drop the foul mess of unrecognizable animal parts, but I manage to steady it again. My heart’s pounding, and my head is on a swivel, always on the lookout for approaching Junks. This is my fifth bucket of slop from the food recycling plant just down the street. Already the tunnel smells of something dead and bloated. I quickly walk a short distance past the manhole and dump the bucket onto a growing pile of rancid meat. The tunnels are much nicer here than they were in Boston, if it’s possible for a tunnel to be considered nice. They are made entirely of concrete with ceilings twice my height and even include lights every few yards or so. A lot of them aren’t working anymore, but any amount of light in a place like this can sure comfort a girl who’s stupid enough to climb into a Junk-infested tunnel. My only complaint, if I’m allowed to have one, is that the space is too narrow; my arms can’t stretch out all the way before the walls stop them.

“How do you know Junks won’t get you first?” Tank asks as he hands me another full bucket.

“I don’t, but I figure the first one dropping through this hole has the advantage.” I keep talking while I move to empty more rotten slop. “When the Canine or any of his buddies come after me, Junks will have to get through them to get to me. By then, I fully plan on being at the other manhole where you’ll be pulling me up. And as soon as I’m out, you seal the tunnel.”

“What about this entrance? Who’s going to close it?”

“No one. Junks will make sure that no one’s getting out this way.”

“I just wish I could fit in there,” Tank says. “If anything goes wrong—”

“It won’t.” I accept another bucket and walk down the narrow tunnel, feeling strangely deflated. “I hope,” I whisper and add the congealed contents to the growing pile of gruesome guts. My plan had seemed like a good one when I came up with it over an hour ago, but the more I think about it, the more I see its fatal flaws. The only reason I haven’t called the whole thing off yet is I can’t think of a better solution. All I know is I can’t let the Canine track me to where Max and the others are hiding. And even though Tank still has enough power on his wind gun for one more blast, we don’t know how many Primes might be traveling with the Canine, and we can’t guarantee they will all be standing close enough together for the gun to have any effect anyway.

Tank lowers more garbage gruel. I wish New York City had more people sensitive to the HOPE movement for us to turn to, but it doesn’t. Of all the states, Tank tells me it has the least, which makes me wonder why my father chose to meet us here and not somewhere else. Regardless, our lack of friends makes it so I have to turn to our common enemy—Junks. They will unknowingly help me. Or eat the flesh off my body.