“Gabby!” he yelled.
He jerked his body, twisting away from his captor, trying to see Gabby. The man lost his grip and Michael staggered, turned, started running. Toward Gabby.
Wrong.
Everything.
Throngs of people surrounded her. If he could just get that far. Find her, help her, get lost in the crowd.
A woman stepped in front of him, dressed in all-black battle gear. She had a nightstick, too, and she swung the long, thin club directly at Michael’s face. It connected with his forehead, a crushing blow that made the world erupt into bright lights and pain. He fell to the ground, crumpling in a heap, the back of his head slamming into the concrete.
The sky and the tops of buildings swirled above him. He almost lost consciousness but held on, forcing himself to stay connected. His strength was gone. Gone.
“Gabby,” he whispered. “Weber. Where are you?”
And then he was being lifted into the air. Carried to the truck. Thrown inside.
They slammed the door closed, a long screech followed by a thunderous, echoing boom, leaving him and his friends in darkness.
Michael closed his eyes.
Michael floated in and out of consciousness. He woke up when they moved him, saw flashes of lights and faces, the blur of movement. His head hurt, a raw ache that reminded him far too much of the Decay. Of all that had been. Of Kaine. Nausea overwhelmed him.
He slept.
“Hey,” someone whispered. “Michael. You okay?”
Sarah. It was Sarah. He blinked a few times, opened his eyes fully. She was staring down at him. He was on his back, lying on something very hard. His head felt better, and the wooziness had subsided. With a groan he moved to get up, and she helped him. His heart sank when he saw where they were.
He was on a bench. He was with Sarah and Bryson in a dimly lit room with iron bars all around—a prison cell. There was no one else in sight. Had they been Lifted?
“Dude,” Bryson said. “That lady must’ve knocked half of your brains out of your ears with that blow. I saw it. You’ve been out for a while.”
“What …” Michael groaned. It hurt to speak.
Sarah was next to him. Holding his hand.
“Everything was a lie,” she said. “They won’t tell us much. Just that we’re under arrest. The cops here are terrible.”
“What …” Michael said again. Maybe he’d suffered some serious brain damage and that was the only word he’d ever utter for the rest of his life. “Did you see Gabby?”
He turned to Bryson, who didn’t seem to have heard him. His friend was fuming, rubbing his hands together as he stared at the wall of metal bars. “Weber. She set us up. Set the whole thing up, top to bottom. I just hope I get a chance someday … Just five minutes. That’s all I need.”
Michael wanted to ask what in the world he was talking about but had to focus on breathing.
“We don’t know it was her,” Sarah said. “In fact, it doesn’t even make sense if it was her. After she Sunk us into the Sleep, someone else must’ve charged in and taken over operations.”
Bryson just scoffed at that.
Michael was becoming more convinced by the second that he had been hit too hard to recover. “Wait … what’s going on? What do you guys know?”
Sarah kept talking, but she didn’t seem to be talking to Michael. “They must’ve done it right after Weber gave us the Lance device. It was somehow linked to the Squeeze. I mean, we all passed out. Slept for who knows how long. They had plenty of time to do it.”
“I’m telling you, it was Weber,” Bryson said. He sat back against the cement wall behind the bench. “You can’t tell me she gave us that Lance thing and Lifted out of the Sleep, and then suddenly other people took over. That’s too convenient. She set us up.”
“But why?” Sarah asked. “We already had tons of reasons to be arrested. Michael’s supposedly a terrorist, and everyone on the planet thinks I did something to my … parents.” She faltered but quickly recovered. “Not to mention the umpteen times we’ve broken laws in the Sleep. It doesn’t add up. If Weber—or anyone else—wanted us in jail, all they had to do was turn us in. Call the cops.”
Michael just kept looking back and forth between his friends, trying to connect the dots. Bryson was slowly nodding, considering.
“Huh,” he said. And then he repeated it. “Huh.”
“Guys.” Michael shifted in his seat, wincing from the pain that lingered. “Call me slow. But what in the world are you talking about? What did Gabby mean back there? Have they even Lifted us out of the Deep yet? Where are we? What happened? Is this a real jail or—”
“Michael,” Sarah said softly, but firm enough to cut him off. “Michael. They tricked us. Someone did.”
“How?” he asked. “What did they do?”