Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

As she hovered in the vent, Fran considered the air which now permeated her lungs. Sure, she knew it didn’t
really
house a myriad of poisons and knew her face wouldn’t melt. Instead, new concerns danced around her brain, like
what’s out there?
She remembered the lore of the Geiger Zombies from her childhood—how they would kidnap and feed on the flesh of Impervious children. She wished she would stop shaking. They were only fables.

Right
?

On the precipice of crawling out of the shadow, with just a breath between her and the new world, a breeze touched Fran’s matted curls. It soothed her head like a minty exhale, and a tingle surged from the cool sensation down to her toes. A great light enveloped her head burned her eyes. She clamped he lids and bellied the remaining few feet out of the shaft. Tears welled up under her lids and she slowly drew open her eyes. Black dots danced and swirled in her vision. Her brain felt unraveled like when she awoke from the EMP incapacitation. She paused and blinked a few times, to give her vision a moment to clear. She tried to stand on wobbly legs, but instead collapsed onto her knees and sat shaking and panting.

As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, her vision cleared. The shaking lessened. She stood and surveyed the landscape.

Shoot me in the head
.

Bright green grasses rolled out like a carpet up and down soft hills, and tiny purple and yellow flowers scattered throughout the meadow like candy sprinkles on a birthday cake. Fran turned in a slow circle and held her breath. In one direction, a smoky mountain range emerged from the earth, and tall trees stood shoulder-to-shoulder creating a forest in the other. She looked up into a clear blue sky, dizzy with vertigo as her eyes continued to look higher and higher. The enormity overwhelmed her senses—as if it had no boundaries.

She knelt back down to clutch the metal, closed her mouth, and wiped her tearing eyes.

Upon surveying her surroundings again, she could see she stood elevated from the ground on a narrow metal structure. She moved to the edge of the roof to assess the distance to the ground and realized it was probably only eight or ten feet. Should she jump?

As she considered her options, she heard a whimpering close by.
Marie?

While remaining prone on the slick, warm surface, Fran inched to the edge until her head and shoulders cleared the roof. She peeked over the shelf and saw Marie on the ground in a heap, shivering and whimpering. Alone. The idiot Superiors had dumped her. Like taking out the daily trash, they had opened their doors and tossed her out. She pictured them using the heels of their shiny, Superior shoes to push her onto the grasses and out of the confines of their shimmery city. She envisioned their fancy red suit jackets and ridiculous HAZMAT breathing apparatuses.
Morons.
She almost wished they had stayed so she could jump onto their velvet backs and throttle their idiot faces.

Suddenly shouts filled the air and footsteps thumped on the soft earth. Fran inched backwards to employ Rebel invisibility skills. With one eye barely peeking over the edge, she spied the intruders.

A woman, dressed in a thigh-length white gown, knelt over Marie and tossed a side satchel onto the ground. A dark braid meandered down her back, and her skin glowed with warmth. Fran’s eyes darted to the person squatting next to the woman. Boy? Man? Somewhere between the two? His smooth skin was like that of a boy, but Fran saw traces of a shadow over his lip. Wavy, golden hair brushed his shoulders, and rays from the sun haloed his head. His exposed arms and chest teemed with knotty muscles making him appear older than his face implied.

His arms and legs looked ripped like the late Gillius Thunder thighs, but unlike Gillius, he didn’t seem to have a problem straightening his arms. He wore mid-shin pants fashioned from some sort of animal skin. The woman ran a hand along Marie’s forehead and over her scalp. She reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of some sort which she held to Marie’s lips inducing a soft moan from Marie.

“Get me the water.”

The woman’s voice rang out strong and clear. Her command direct. The young man released a leathery looking container which hung from his belt, and held the opening to Marie’s mouth. Fran remained mesmerized by his strange coupling of strength and compassion. Then, he looked up.

Fran sucked in her breath.

His eyes flashed gold, and he whispered something to the woman. She looked up as well. Fran froze, her muscles paralyzed the way they did when a Graphie sent out a shock-wave. The two continued to gawk at Fran, making her wonder which was odder. Her hanging out on the roof? Or them tending to a dying resident?

“Who are you?” The woman’s unwavering voice resonated across the plain. Again, strong and direct.

“My name is Sarah Monde.”

“What is your purpose? Are you from the Council?”

Fran laughed. “Not in a million years.”

She noticed the young man chuckle. The woman tried to hide her smile. “Are you Accountable?”

Surprised to hear the common phrase spoken out here, Fran jerked back. She never considered the fact that the Council might be ruling out here as well. It never dawned on her there would be any political structure at all. She couldn’t decide which answer would be the right one.

“I’m not. I mean I used to be, but I’m not now. Well, at this moment, I suppose I am.” Her answer sounded deceptive even to her own ears.

The woman turned to the young man. “Retter, take care of her. I’m going to tend to this one.”

The young man she called Retter pulled a long cord from his belt and tied a stone to the end. He lassoed it through the air a few times before releasing it over his head. The rope made a whizzing sound as it whipped up over the roof and made contact with a skinny metal bar. It coiled around the bar, spinning until it circled several times. Retter tugged on the end and smiled at Fran.

“Okay. You can climb down.”

Fran crawled over to the rope and jerked it a few times. It seemed safe. Maybe.
How hard could it be?
She grabbed the rope and swung her feet over the side of the structure.

“Don’t slide. The rope will burn your hands. Just gently repel off the side.”

She had no idea what he meant.
Here goes nothing
. She swung her body around and held on tight to the cord. As her hands slipped just an inch down the rope, her feet careened into the metal siding with a loud crash. Her silent paper booties slid on the metal wall. She couldn’t get a good grip and chided herself for looking ridiculous and clumsy.

“That’s it. Just like that,” Retter encouraged as she inched down. “Not too fast.”

About four feet from the ground, she let go, landing first on her feet and then toppling onto her bottom. Retter came over and offered her assistance, which she ignored. Too humiliating. Instead, she rose to her feet, brushed off her bruised backside, and looked square into his strange, tawny-colored eyes.
Weird
.

The woman shouted, “Now, Retter!”

Before Fran understood the implication, Retter grabbed Fran around the waist, tossed her over his meaty shoulder, and took off running.

Chapter Nineteen

The landscape became a blur of greens and purples as Retter trotted through the high grasses. Her head hung over his shoulder as they bumped along, and blood pounded past Fran’s temples, making it hard to think. She kicked and pummeled at his back, but he kept his stride long and moved at a good clip, hopping over large rocks as if he knew the exact location of each stationary object.

Two words ran in circles through her brain…

Geiger Zombie.

When they reached a line of trees, they stopped and Retter deposited Fran onto the mossy ground with a thud. She stood and scrambled backwards but collided with a tree. The sharp edges of the rough bark poked through her Canvies and jabbed into her flesh.

“Sit there,” Retter mumbled, as he pulled out the same cord he had used to get her down from the roof.

Knowing she couldn’t outrun him, Fran slid down to the ground. He wrapped the length of the scratchy rope around her wrists. After giving it a slight tug, apparently, satisfied with his work, he backed away.

While keeping his attention trained to Fran, he pulled a knife from a pocket attached to his pant leg. Fran gasped, and Retter looked amused as he yanked a tree limb from over his head. He stripped the thin bark with his knife and gave Fran another look of amusement before squatting low and finally settling onto the ground.

They sat without speaking for what seemed like a long time to Fran. He whittled the tree limb and as the sun relocated in the sky, shadows spread throughout the forest. Finally, he spoke.

“Why did you come out here?” His deep voice held little inflection, almost sounding bored.

“I read the diary of Doc. I wanted to see if it was real.”

“Who’s Doc?”

“I don’t know. I never met him. Chan did.”

“Who’s Chan?”

“My mentor.”

Retter looked up from his project. “Why did you come here?”

“I just told you…”
What does he want to hear? Maybe this was just part of the cannibalistic torture. Marinate their flesh in anger. It’s delicious!

They danced around this small circle of inquiry until her answers sounded confusing. She rolled her eyes and leaned her head back onto the hard bark.

“Just kill me already.”

Retter looked Fran in the eye and raised a single brow. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to laugh but restrained himself. Their eyes remained locked and warmth rose up into her cheeks.
Embarrassed by a cannibal? I’m pathetic.

A commotion in the woods unlocked the stare and both heads turned in the direction of the noise. As the outline of three figures moved toward them, Fran froze.
This is it. I’m toast.

“Retter?” The familiar voice rang out. Fran recognized it as the women from earlier.

“Over here, Tanya.”

A moment later, she came into view. A light wind rustled through the trees, and like when a curtain pulls back for a show, the shadow lifted. Traces of sunlight streamed into their space, illuminating her smile and the faces of her companions.

Fran sucked in her breath. Was she seeing a ghost? Her heart raced, and her head spun in dream-like shock. Time took on a slow and strange continuum—each moment reading like an entire story. Fran experienced every separate beat of her own heart as a measured pulse throbbed in her ears. Her eyes locked onto a face from the past and watched the pin–sized pupils staring back at her grow with mirrored shock. Brows climbed high onto the familiar forehead, and lids lifted to capacity. Lips that had kissed her cheek as a child made the shape of a perfect 'O' while two hands reached out to bridge the distance between them. The shriek pierced Fran's soul.

“Frannie!”

Surprise, fear, grief, joy, anger, forgiveness, and elation erupted from Fran like a fiery volcano. She opened her mouth, but no sound came forth. Emotions sailed through the air and scattered in the wind. Fran’s heart exploded; she was sure of it. She drew in a ragged breath and sobbed,

“Mom.”

Fran’s mother struggled to reach around Retter and touch her daughter’s face.  “Oh Frannie, beautiful Frannie.”

Tanya’s voice rang out clear. “Retter, cut the ropes.”

When the ropes severed, Fran sprang free and latched onto her mother. Painful spasms of grief retched from her soul, while joy beyond understanding burst through her spirit. Her body shook with emotion. Mother clung to daughter and whispered her name as Fran inhaled the essence of love that encapsulated her first fourteen years of life.

Her mother held Fran at arm’s length, inspecting her child.

“Oh, Sweet Frannie, you are a sight.” She laughed as she ran a hand along Fran’s curls. “I just don’t understand.
How
are you here? You’re not even sick.”

She rambled with laughter, questions, and tears, then back to laughter, obviously shaken by Fran’s sudden appearance. “Did you come out alone?”

Fran gazed into liquid blue eyes which mirrored her own, and knew exactly what her mom was asking.

“Ted’s married, Mom.” Fran heaved a sigh. “He lives in the West Wing.”

Fran’s mother lifted a hand to her mouth. A miniature gasp suggested she understood the unspoken implication of living on the trendy side of town. No one lived there without somehow selling out to the Council. Her mother understood that either Ted or his wife were in cahoots with the top dogs. A trembling lip displayed fear for her son.

“Does he know the truth?” Her mother’s voice was a whisper and a man—one who haunted the depths of Fran’s memories―placed a leathery hand on her mother’s shoulder.

He wore his sandy-brown, wavy hair shoulder length, and a sprinkling of gray strands winked in the sunlight. His jaw line, the slope of his nose, and the shape of his eyes reminded Fran of her brother. A grin lit up his face.

“Sarah Frances?”