The Ascension: A Super Human Clash (15 page)

I CAN'T STAY HERE
much longer, Lance thought.
Either they'll give up the search and come back to work or they'll realize I never went inside the prison at all. Or this mortar is going to harden around me.
The mortar was already starting to sting his skin.

He had no idea how long he'd already spent inside the cement mixer's drum. Twice he had heard another guard come back to Morrison to check in, but for the most part Morrison had remained so silent that Lance had started to wonder whether the man was still there.

I've got to move, find somewhere better to hide.

He reached out and grabbed the lip of the mixer with both hands. The mortar made a quiet, wet slurping sound as he pulled himself forward.

Once his head was free, Lance leaned forward—his stomach now resting uncomfortably on the lip of the drum—and peered upside down through a gap in the mixer's battered framework. He could see the beam of Morrison's flashlight bobbing about, focused mainly on the hole Brawn had torn through the prison block's wall.

OK, he's not looking over here….

Lance let go of the drum and shifted himself a little farther out; he slid awkwardly forward and down until his hands were resting on the ground, then slowly and silently eased himself out, toppled over onto his back.

He took a few slow, deep breaths as he stared up at the night sky.
All right. I'm out. Now what?

A quick glance at Morrison told him that the guard was still facing the hole in the wall.

I could run, but where to?
He looked toward the high mesh fence cutting the prison off from the outside world.
There's no way I can climb that without being seen.

Something buzzed behind him, and Lance heard the guard saying, “Morrison. Go ahead, boss.”

Coleman's voice crackled over the radio. “Any sign a the kid?”

“No, sir. Nothing at this end. You find him yet?”

A slight pause, then, sarcastically, “Yeah, we found him. That's why I'm askin' you. Just keep yer eyes peeled, Morrison.”

Another guard said, “Blasted kid's got to be the world champion at hide-and-seek.”

Lance rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself to his feet. The wet mortar clinging to his uniform was much heavier than he'd expected; he felt like he was wearing a suit of armor.

If I run
, he thought,
I'm going to leave a trail of this stuff behind me.
Hidden from Morrison's view by the mixer, Lance began to remove as much of the mortar as he could, scooping it off with his hands and dropping it back into the mixer.

As he did so, he looked around the yard. In the almost total darkness it was difficult to see much, but he could just about make out the outline of the now-unladen flatbed truck that had brought the bricks into the prison.

I could hide out in there
, Lance thought, and then instantly dismissed the idea.
Pretty soon they're going to start searching everything. I need to get out of the prison.

He kept a close eye on Morrison as he made his way over to the truck. The guard had the flashlight tucked under his chin like a phone as he scratched his backside with one hand and picked his nose with the other.

Lance tried the truck's passenger-side door. It was locked. He quickly removed the picks from his right sock and began probing the lock. It made no difference to Lance that he couldn't see what he was doing; picking a lock is always done by touch alone.

There was a soft
chunk
as the lock opened. Lance pulled the door open, climbed inside the cab, and slid over to the driver's side.

He reached down to the sides of the truck's steering column, feeling for the ignition slot. With some effort he forced his tension wrench into the slot and gave it a twist.

The dashboard's lights came on.

All right. So I can start this thing. Two important questions: Can I actually drive it, and if I ram the gates at full speed, will I get through?

From what he remembered from his arrival at the prison, the gates had looked to be very strong.
But then this truck can carry a couple of tons of bricks…. It's got to be pretty powerful.

But which is stronger? The gates or the truck?

He couldn't help grinning to himself.
Well, there's only one way to find out! Drive!

Lance started the ignition and the truck's engine roared to life.

 

Abby de Luyando hugged close to James Klaus as they raced through the night air. James had already worked out a way for them to fly separately, but this way was easier, and a little warmer.

But now she could feel his energy flagging. “James? Time to take a break.”

“I can keep going.”

“No you can't. Set us down.”

Far below was a large industrial park containing hundreds of warehouses and factories connected by wide, straight roads.

James drifted down toward the flat roof of one of the warehouses, but Abby nudged his arm. “No,
that
one.”

“Why?”

“It's got a chimney. It'll be warmer.”

A few minutes later they sat on the roof with their backs to the chimney stack. From deep inside came the repetitive sound of an assembly line. Its faultless rhythm was soothing, and Abby felt her eyes begin to close. “How much farther now, do you think?”

“I couldn't guess. I'm not even certain we're going in the right direction. If we are, I'll be able to hear Brawn from miles away. He's not exactly stealthy.”

“So when we find him…what then? There's no way you're going to be able to fly all three of us to New York.”

“I haven't thought that far ahead.”

Abby got up and stretched. “Man, I'm tired.” She walked around in a wide circle, swinging her arms back and forth in unison. “Y'know, for all we know, the soldiers from Unity might already have invaded. With them on our side, we might have a chance against Krodin. But that's no good, because if they
do
invade, then a lot of innocent people will be killed.” She laughed at the situation, but it felt hollow. “So we have to stop him
before
the people we need to be able to stop him can get to him.”

There was no reply. Abby looked back toward James and saw that he was asleep.

She suddenly felt more alone than ever before. She turned on the spot, looking to the horizon all around, and the enormity of the task ahead made her feel like a single pencil dot on a sheet of paper the size of a football field.

 

“This is it,” Victoria said to Roz. “Th' link tunnel.”

After countless twists and turns—Roz knew she'd never be able to retrace her path—through the subway tunnels and maintenance shafts, they had emerged through a side door close to the Manhattan entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

Roz smiled and crouched down in front of the girl. “You did good. You got us all the way here!”

“Said I would, dint I?”

“You sure did.” She shone the flashlight's beam over the tunnels' asphalt-lined surface. “Finally, we can walk without worrying about tripping on something and breaking our necks.”

“I hafta go to sleep now,” Victoria said, clutching her Cabbage Patch doll tighter. “An' I'm hungry. We shoulda brung food.”

“I told you, honey, you can't eat that stuff anymore. It's all gone stale. It's not good for you.” Victoria had survived on candy bars and potato chips scavenged from vending machines throughout the subway system. “When we get to the other side, we'll find something, I'm sure.”

Victoria nodded, and Roz could see that her eyes were closing. “Want me to carry you again? You can sleep if you like.”

Roz picked her up and carried her out into the tunnel. The air was stale and damp, tinged with the musty odor of fungus and wet clay. Roz's flashlight seemed almost completely ineffective against the darkness, and there was no sound in the tunnel except for the echo of her own footsteps and Victoria's heavy breathing.

Something moved off to her left, and Roz swung the flashlight toward it—twin glints in the darkness flickered for a moment, then vanished.
Just a rat
, she told herself.

She let go of the flashlight and used her telekinesis to raise it up almost to the tunnel's tiled ceiling, angled it so that the beam illuminated the ground ahead of her.

She'd half expected to see stalled cars and trucks, but the tunnel ahead appeared to be completely empty.
What happened to all the cars? Manhattan used to be crazy with traffic.

There was another noise behind her, and then something brushed against her right foot. Roz yelped and jumped aside, almost dropping Victoria.

Her concentration broken, the flashlight fell, hit the ground with a sharp
crack
, and went out.

“Aw no!” she said aloud, and the soft echo of her voice drifted back to her.

Victoria removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to ask, “What happened?”

“The flashlight fell. Do you still have that candle?”

“I lef' it behind.”

“Never mind. We'll be OK.”
Now what do I do? Go back? No, better keep walking.

She reached out to the right with her telekinesis, probing for the sidewall.
Got it.
She walked on, her progress much slower without the light to guide her.

After a few minutes she became aware of a constant dripping sound, growing louder as she walked.
Please don't tell me the tunnel's leaking!

A hundred steps farther on, she realized that her boots were making light splashing sounds.

A few more steps and she could feel the freezing water lapping over her feet.

A minute later the water was up to her knees.

It was getting harder to walk, harder still to do so quietly. As the water rose to halfway up her thighs, she hoisted Victoria a little higher with the help of her telekinesis, trying to keep the girl's bare feet dry.

We've got to be halfway by now—that has to mean that the water won't get any deeper.

From somewhere ahead Roz heard a brief whisper, followed by someone saying, “Shh!”

She called out, “Anyone there?”

Silence.

“If anyone
is
there, we need your help. The water's getting deeper, and I can't see where we're going!”

Then a voice said, “It'd be a fair bit easier if you walked on the other side. You know. Where the
walkway
is.”

A light shone out from the darkness, dazzling her. She blinked rapidly, looked away for a moment. When she looked back, the light was shining off to the side a little, and she could see that it was coming from a flashlight somewhere farther along, on the water.

There was a brief burst of splashing, and then something large and yellow was floating toward her. An inflatable life raft.

Inside, two men were paddling while a third—who seemed to be only a couple of years older than Roz—held the flashlight on her. “So,” the young man said. “Who are you, what do you want, and so on. Blah-de-blah-de-blah. I'm sure you know the drill.”

“My name is Roz. I'm trying to get to New Jersey.”

“And who's this little one?”

“Victoria. She's been living alone in the subway tunnel for years.”

“Right. Well, you'd better both come with us, then. My name's Joe Ward. Welcome aboard the good ship
Stolen Life Raft.
” The flashlight lowered again, and the young man extended his hand. “Pass her over. Careful now…. Don't want to capsize us, do you?”

“It's only a few feet deep.”

“And my socks would get just as wet as they would if it was a
hundred
feet deep.”

“Don't wake her,” Roz said. “She's very weak. Severely malnourished.”

“I'll be careful.” Joe carefully set Victoria down in the rear of the raft, then pulled off his jacket and draped it over her like a blanket. “Now grab my hand, Roz.”

Using the man's arm to steady herself, Roz climbed into the life raft.

“About-face, men,” Joe said. “Tonight we set sail for Utopia!”

The men with the paddles grumbled as they awkwardly turned the raft around.

“It'd be easier to just start paddling in the opposite direction,” Roz said.

“True,” Joe said. “But then maritime custom dictates that ships don't have a reverse gear. Probably. I think it's considered to be bad luck or something. Well, this is Nathan on your left, and on your right is Horace.”

The man on the right said, “Bill.”

“Yes. Bill, short for Horace. So you're on the run, yeah? Or are you just a couple of weary travelers seeking solace on this bitterly cold winter's evening, except it's the summer and it's quite warm?”

“The first one.”

“Good stuff. Now, I have two important questions to ask you, Roz. Ready? First question…Who are you running from?”

“That is a long story,” Roz said. “I'd tell you, but we'd run out of tunnel before we ran out of story.”

“Fair enough. Second question…This one is for the grand prize of eighteen million dollars…. Are you sitting comfortably, Roz? Of course you're not. You're in a damp life raft with three strangers quite a long way under the Hudson. Never mind. Here comes the question anyway…. What kind of an eejit do you take me for? You think we wouldn't recognize Max Dalton's sister when we see her?”

“Ah,” Roz began.

“Ah indeed. Now, I have it on good authority—Nathan here told me—that earlier today one Rosalyn Dalton mysteriously disappeared from where she was supposed to be and reappeared where she wasn't supposed to be. An ability that she has never previously demonstrated. That'd be yourself?”

“Yes.”