Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (10 page)

“How’d an old fart like you make it through the meltdown anyway?” Diesel traces his fingers across the skull on his chin. “You one of those crazy draft dodgers was living up in the mountains running traps and skinning rattlers?”

The furrow in Big Ed’s forehead deepens.

“I could use a mountain man’s skills around here,” Diesel adds. “My homeboys are fit for fighting, and not much else.” He sniffs long and hard. “We got rafts here, but no one to run them at night when the Sweepers ain’t out prowling.” He moves his pierced face inches from Big Ed’s silver-rimmed glasses, and grins. “I reckon you could run the river in the dark. Bet you know every rock like the back of yer knotty ole hand.”

Big Ed stares at him, unflinching.

Diesel takes a step back and throws an arm over my shoulder without breaking Big Ed’s gaze. “Tell you what. You sign on with me, old man, and I’ll let your little girl live.”

I gasp when he twists me into a headlock and blocks my windpipe with his forearm. I grapple in vain to move the wall of muscle from my neck, my knuckles close to exploding from the effort. The room spins, tattooed faces swirling around me. I’m close to blacking out when Big Ed speaks.

“Where to?”

“Down river, clear to the coast. We’ll pick up the Sweeper ship on the way.”

“Turn her loose,” Big Ed says, a vibrato edge in his voice. “I’ll take you as far as the rafts can go.”

“Now we’re dealin’, Santa Claus.” Diesel laughs and flings me across the room. I fall to my knees beside Owen, shuddering as my lungs gorge on the sudden intake of air.

Diesel turns to Rummy. “These dimwits didn’t come alone. We got company out there. Set up a lookout.”

Rummy retrieves his gun from the stacked pile. “Stinks of an inside job to me.”

Diesel paces back and forth, scanning the taut faces around him. “Last chance. Any you boys got somethin’ you wanna tell me?” The tension in the room heightens, but no one speaks.

I glance down at Owen. He blinks once, twice, deliberate, measured motions. I lean over him. Is he trying to tell me something? His eyelids flicker again, rapidly, and this time he doesn’t stop. A wave of panic courses through me. Is this some kind of seizure? Suddenly, his eyelids stop fluttering and he stares, transfixed by something above us. I throw a discreet look in Diesel’s direction. He’s deep in conversation with his men.

Cautiously, I tilt my head back and scan the rafters. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. At first, I don’t trust what I see, but then my brain whirs in comprehension.

Lodged in the trusses like a giant bat, a shadowy hooded figure aims an M16 at the black shamrock tattoo on Diesel’s bald head. I drop my gaze. Is this the missing lookout? No wonder Diesel’s watching his men—and his back. There’s some kind of mutiny afoot. I glance over at Owen and he mouths a single word to me.

Mason
?

A wave of guilt hits me. I’ve been dreading telling Owen. “He’s dead!” I blurt out.

Diesel spins around, his jowls twitching.

I gesture helplessly at Owen. “
Half
dead. But he won’t make it if you don’t get a medic in here.”

“Tie her back up.” Diesel curls his lip at me in disgust and then turns to the Rogues. “Rummy, take your homeboys and scout the perimeter.”

He strides over to the door and halts, his shadow falling over Owen huddled on the stretcher. “And get some food and bandages in here for this meathead.” He pins me with an acid stare. “I could use a mechanic.”

My lips quiver, but I hold his gaze. I’ve bought Owen some time, but if he recovers too quickly, I might just have dug his grave a foot deeper. He can’t even figure out the filter system in our bunker.

The skinheads tromp out and my eyes go straight to the rafters. The hooded figure puts a finger to his lips. I give a shaky nod. What was the lookout called? Albrecht? Ulbrecht? Something like that.

Moments later a tall, gaunt woman appears with a metal first aid kit that looks like it’s been ripped from a wall.

She flips the latch open, rummages around, and tosses me a half-full tube of antibiotic ointment, a wad of gauze and some tape. “Ha-have at it, k-k-kid.” She clears her throat, her eyes never quite meeting mine, then perches on the edge of a bench. She’s barely old enough to be calling me kid. And what’s with the stutter? Her tattoos look fresh. I wonder if she’s an escaped subversive too, or if the Rogues took her from a bunker.

I glance up as a pudgy Rogue walks in with a pot and a ladle, and a half-gallon plastic jug of water.

“Leftovers. Compliments o’ Diesel, wants his guests to keep up their strength for our river rafting adventure together.” He splits his lips in a silent laugh and a gold tooth glitters at me. His gaze flits around the room.

Heart pounding, I rack my brains for a way to distract him before he spots the figure in the rafters. “Why’s he called Diesel?”

To my relief, the Rogue pulls out a stool and sets the pot down in front of me. He wags his finger in my face. “Dumb folk always ask that. And he’ll show you. Ain’t that right, Lipsy?”

The gaunt woman shifts uncomfortably.

“She ain’t been right in the head since Diesel got done with her.” The pudgy Rogue pulls out an old cigarette lighter and flicks the spark wheel. My eyes widen at the flame. I haven’t seen one of those in forever—Da used to have one. I wince at the blistering heat when he waves the lighter under my jaw.

“Likes to light ’em up, don’t he?” The pudgy Rogue pockets the cigarette lighter and flashes his gold tooth again. “Doused a man and took a blowtorch to him once.”

The lid on the metal first aid box slams shut like a kill switch on the disturbing image. The gaunt-looking woman stands and tucks the box under her arm. “We g-gotta go.”

The pudgy Rogue scowls. “What’s your problem, Lipsy? Kid asked for a bedtime story.” He lifts the lid off the pot and gives the stew a vigorous stirring before turning to leave.

He follows Lipsy out of the cabin and slams the log door shut. I listen for a key to turn, but apparently, there is none. Maybe they posted a guard outside. Their footsteps fade away in the direction of the lodge. I count to fifty and then make my way across the room and peer cautiously through a crack in the boarded-up window by the door. There’s no one outside. I take one last look around, and then peer into the rafters and give a tentative thumbs up. To my relief the dark figure lowers his gun. He slips off his hood and our eyes lock.

My heart jolts like a freight train shuddering to a stop.

“What the—?” Big Ed’s voice wafts across the room, thin and uncertain. An icy chill grips me. Are we
both
seeing a ghost?

The figure swings from a rafter and jumps down to the floor in a crouch. I stare at the huge feet and shrink back, my spine tingling.
No! It can’t be!
My head spins as I take him in. Thick, muscular and ruddy. Hardly a bloodless apparition.

I watch, dumbstruck, as Mason’s double makes his way over to Owen. He mutters something under his breath and balls his giant hands into fists. “Who did this to you?”

Owen swallows. “Rummy.”

I scoot back another few inches, my heart catapulting wildly in my chest. Confusion floods my brain. My bound hands shake between my knees.

Big Ed gets to his feet. “We … thought … Derry said you …” He frowns, throws me a perplexed look.

Owen tries to lift his head, and then groans before flopping back down. “Rummy … thought I was a snitch tracking them.” He sighs deeply and closes his eyes.

“He did his best to beat it out of you,” Mason says with a grimace.

I stare at him in disbelief. Same thick, brooding brows, taut jaw, even the voice is right. But Mason’s dead, isn’t he?

“How?” I squeak out. “No one could survive that fall. It isn’t possible.”

Mason’s eyes snap briefly in my direction. “Neither are clones, far as the rest of the world knows.” He peers into the pot between us, as if to evade my manic stare.

“I washed ashore a mile or so downstream,” he says. “Maybe I can’t die before my time after all.”

Big Ed holds out his bound hands to Mason. “You knew before you jumped you wouldn’t die, didn’t you?”

Mason pulls out his pocketknife and slashes the ties on Big Ed’s wrists. “Like I told you, I was cloned for an elite military. Our bodies are virtually indestructible. The proteins in our cells are engineered with a tensile strength equivalent to steel.” He pauses and gives a rueful grin. “First time I put it to the test though.”

He gestures to me with the knife.

I stand and hold out my trembling hands. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the notion that it’s really Mason in front of me.

“What’s tensile strength?” Big Ed asks.

Mason plunks down and tosses his knife on the floor beside him. “Clones can deform elastically, like spider silk, when force is applied. It’s not magic, just bioengineering.”

Big Ed rubs his misshapen hand over his head.

“You’re freaking them out, Mason.” Owen laughs softly.

I suck in my breath.
Owen
knew
? My mind races, trying to piece together the clues I missed. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Big Ed cradles Owen's head in his lap, and spoons some stew into his mouth.

“So why did you jump?” I ask, eying Mason’s burly frame.

“Did you a favor, didn’t I?”

A pang of guilt hits and I bite down on my lip. “I didn’t mean what I said. It was a stupid, reckless thing to say. I’m really sorry.”

Mason studies me for a minute. His expression slackens. “I had to jump to prove to you who I really was. You had no reason to trust me. But, I came back for you, didn’t I?”

I nod, but with some reluctance.

“You’re going to have to trust me now. The only way we’re getting out of this alive is if we have each other’s backs. The Rogues know they have an intruder. If they find me they’ll kill me.”

I furrow my brow. “
You
took their weapons?”

Mason grins. “Hid them, just in case we need to persuade them to cooperate.”

“They have their own agenda,” I say. “They’re not going to help us.”

“You heard them. They want that Hovermedes.”

I rub my wrists distractedly. “So let’s say we take them to it. Then what?”

“We promise them the ship if they agree to help us penetrate the Craniopolis. Once we’re in, we lose them. I have clones on the inside I can trust. We’ll find Jakob and fly the Hovermedes back out.”

“What happens to the Rogues?”

Mason tightens his lips. “Our mission is to get Jakob out.”

He stares dispassionately at me. Evidently, he has no qualms about ditching the Rogues. I probably shouldn’t care what becomes of them either. After all, Blade didn’t flinch when he told me about the guards they butchered when they fled the reeducation center.

I peer over at Mason, my heart pounding. I can’t shake the feeling we’ll be selling a piece of our souls if we lead the Rogues into a trap. Shouldn’t they at least have a fighting chance against the Sweepers? They’re human beings too, after all.

“So, what’s your plan?” Big Ed asks Mason.

“First, we eat.” He grabs a ladleful of stew and wolfs it down before handing the dripping ladle to me. “And then, we turn up the heat around here.”

I swallow a mouthful of lukewarm stew with a hunk of trout in it. Some kind of peppery seasoning explodes in my mouth. I lick my lips and hand the ladle back to Mason. “What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna give them someone to pin the weapons theft on. Doctor the crime scene—make it look like it was an inside job. Diesel’s already suspicious of his people. Let’s see if he lives up to his fire-breathing reputation.”

He walks over to the crack in the boarded-up window and peers through it. “Wildlife’s asleep.” He throws his hood over his head and treads across to the door. “Time to plant some ammo.” His eyes slide over to Owen, propped up in Big Ed’s arms.

“On someone who has it coming to him.”

I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dreaming. Did Mason really just fall from the rafters and walk out the door? How many lives does a clone have anyway? With an expiration report already on file at the Sweeper crematorium, this makes the second time he’s faked his death.

Big Ed gestures impatiently at the gauze and ointment lying on the floor. “Grab that stuff and let’s get Owen fixed up.” He reaches for his backpack and pulls out a clean bandana. “And pass me some water.”

I gather up the scattered medical supplies and the half-gallon jug, and kneel at Owen's side. “Does it hurt?”

“Lot worse than wrestling with you.” He gives a weak grin. “Nothing broken far as I can tell.”

“What were the Rogues doing so far north?” Big Ed asks, as he dampens the bandana.

“They suspected someone from Frank’s camp was ratting them out to the Sweepers. They’ve lost sixteen men in the past three months, extracted when they were out hunting, or scouting.” Owen shifts his weight onto his elbows and winces. “Rummy planned to take out the entire camp, but when they got there, the camp had already fled. They tracked down Reid and Becca though.”

Owen flinches when Big Ed applies ointment to the lacerations on his face.

“Reid and Becca were—” I break off, unsure of how to explain exactly what they were.

Owen exhales softly. “I know about the bootlegged clones. Mason told me everything.”

My jaw drops. “So you’ve known for months Mason’s a clone.”

“And Kat.”

I gasp and look over at Big Ed. The furrow of confusion between his eyes tells me he’s as shocked as I am. Slow-moving, lizard-eyed Kat is a
clone?

“Something went wrong with her,” Owen says. “The cloning process is fraught with problems. Mason’s seen some horrific things.”

“What do you mean?”

Owen hesitates. “Deviations. Worse than Kat.”

Worse than those eyes, boring into me like empty husks?
My skin crawls. I can’t imagine what he means. Half-human forms? Or something worse?

Big Ed takes off his glasses and rubs them with the edge of the bandana. “How did Kat get out of the Craniopolis?”

“Mason’s friend in the crematorium is Kat’s brother,” Owen replies. “He asked Mason to smuggle her out on the Hovermedes. She’d failed the screening tests. The Sweepers were about to submit her to the laboratory for experimentation.”