Chapter 29
A high-pitched wail fills the smoky air. “Militia’s here,” Bowen whispers, sagging against me as if he’s already given up. A dark shadow looms up out of the green fog beside me, and I almost drop Bowen. Tommy steps past me and shoves the elevator door twelve inches wider. With a satisfied nod, he turns to me and my hope bursts back into existence. He holds a coiled rope. I look between the rope and Bowen and smile, my cheeks pressing against the mask.
“Take a breath, then come climb on my back, man,” Tommy says through his mask, which is strapped around the back of his head. Bowen hesitates. “What? You thought I was going to leave you? You’re my best friend. I’m tying you on, but hurry up before the militia get inside.”
I take the mask from my mouth and press it to Bowen’s. He takes a deep breath and then hands it to me. I strap it on behind my head.
“You take my mask off when you need air,” Tommy says. “You think you can manage that?”
Bowen nods and steps behind Tommy. Tommy removes his backpack and drops it down the elevator shaft, and then hoists Bowen up, like a dad giving his kid a piggyback ride. He swings the rope behind Bowen, just under his armpits, and ties him into place. Next he loops the rope under Bowen’s butt, then around his waist, careful not to put it directly over Bowen’s wound.
“That gonna work?” he asks.
Bowen, face covered with a sheen of sweat, gives him a trembling thumbs-up and then takes the mask from Tommy’s mouth for a breath of air.
Tommy steps up to the shaft and climbs over the side, working his way around the minuscule ledge to the ladder. Without hesitating, he starts down.
I follow, easing myself onto the inch-wide ledge, and cling to the wall, hoping that my heavy pack won’t pull me backward. Millimeter by millimeter, I start my slow way toward the ladder, wondering how Tommy did it so fast. When I get to the ladder I grip it, panting into my oxygen mask. Slowly, I start working my way to the bottom.
Four rungs down, the sound of pounding feet and men’s voices drift to me. I peer up through the gaping elevator door, into the smoky corridor, and see men in black uniforms, wearing oxygen masks, run past. The Inner Guard. I freeze and hold my breath, trying to blend in with the wall. When their voices fade to silence, I start climbing down once more.
Even though Tommy is burdened with Bowen, he’s far enough below me that I can’t see him or hear him. After a while, my sweaty palms begin to slip on the rungs and the muscles in my arms start to burn. Down and down I go into darkness, the ladder rubbing blisters on my palms, yet the shaft never ends. Twice I pass hotel floors with no elevator doors but never see another living person. Minutes drag by and my palms are rubbed raw, yet still I can’t see the bottom in the fathomless shadows below.
By the time my legs are burning almost as much as my arms are, and my palms are wet with blood instead of sweat, the air changes. Dry heat is replaced with sweltering damp that clings to my skin and makes it hard to breathe. The lower I climb, the cooler the damp air becomes, taking on the smells of rock and dirt. And the tunnels.
I take another step down, and my foot doesn’t land on a rung but on solid ground. Hands grab my shoulders and pull me backward, but it is too dark to see who it is. A callused hand tears the mask from my face and clamps down over my mouth. I sag with defeat, for I am certain I’m caught. Whether by the militia, the Inner Guard, or the raiders, I can’t say.
I struggle against the hand, catch the calluses between my teeth and bite, but the hand doesn’t release. “It’s me, Tommy,” the owner of the hand whispers into my ear. “We’re not safe yet. So shut up, stop trying to bite me, and hurry.” He releases my mouth and takes my hand in his, pulling me slowly through the dark.
“Where’s Bowen,” I whisper. “He’s gone. And shut up!” Tommy hisses.
Gone? As in dead? I can hardly walk. All I want to do is fall to the floor and weep. Bowen is gone, and now I have nothing to live for and nowhere to go. I hang my head and let Tommy lead me.
We don’t walk far, but with every step the fetid smell of the tunnels grows stronger, the air thicker with moisture. Mist coats my tongue with each breath, and the hard ground gives way to water. Cool liquid oozes into my shoes and soaks my socks, filling the spaces between my toes.
Tommy slows his pace. “Stop splashing! You’ll give us away,” he warns. Do I care if I give us away? I care if I give Tommy away, but not myself. I silently ease my feet through the ankle-deep water. After we’ve taken too many steps to count, we stop.
“Duck,” Tommy says, clasping the crown of my head and pushing down. I fall onto hands and knees, slopping slimy water onto my face. “Crawl.” We slosh through the water. The hard floor grinds against my knees and stings my torn palms.
Tommy stops and then light fills the dark. A single match burns between his fingers. We crouch in a low-ceilinged cement tunnel filled with stagnant water and cobwebs. And huddled on the side of the tunnel are Arrin and Bowen.
Bowen’s eyes meet mine and he smiles. I stand and throw myself at him, framing his face with my hands. He sags backward against the stone wall, totally limp, and I press my lips to his. His arm comes around my waist and lies lifelessly there, holding me gently to him. And then he returns the kiss like I’m the blood transfusion he needs to stay alive.
His lips are cool, yet spill warmth through my entire body. I hold his face firmly against mine and feel as if I’m going to burst with the knowledge that he lives.
Quiet laughter fills the tunnel. “Now I see why you’re so attached to her, Bowen. You’re gettin’ sugar,” Tommy says.
I pull away and look into Bowen’s eyes. “I thought you were dead. Tommy said you were gone and I thought …”
The match flickers out, and I use the darkness as an excuse to kiss him again, deeper, slower. Another match scratches, and light flickers on the tunnel wall.
“Ew. You guys are gross,” Arrin says. “Can we go already? Before she accidentally eats him?”
Bowen sighs into my mouth and I lean away, combing the hair off his forehead, studying his face for a brief moment. With a smile plastered to my face, I stand and help Bowen to his feet. He doesn’t wobble, even a little, and my mouth falls open. He smiles again. “Guess the IV’s working its magic,” he says. “But I’m still weak. And still losing a bit of blood.”
I peer at his bare, blood-covered stomach and wince. I am the one who did that to him.
The match flickers and goes out again. Tommy lights a third.
“Didn’t you pack a flashlight?” I ask.
“You’re so stupid!” Arrin grumbles.
“Of course I packed a flashlight,” Tommy says. “But there’s no way we’re getting out of here that easy. Not with you along, Fiona Tarsis. The militia will scan the ground for any type of energy current, except fire. And I didn’t pack a candle.” Tommy turns to Arrin. “So, Fec, where are we going?”
Arrin shrugs, peering at him through stringy bangs. “You tell me. And I’m assuming I’ll be paid? I’m not helping you for nothing.”
“Will a can of peaches be payment enough?” Bowen asks.
“Double it and you’ve got a deal.”
“Done,” Bowen says. “Well, then, where to?” Arrin asks.
I look at Bowen, hope burning in my chest. “Can we still run?” I whisper. “To Wyoming?”
He shakes his head. “Too weak. I’ll never make it. And you’ll never make it on your own.”
Eyes pleading, I look at Tommy. He smirks and shakes his head. “I ain’t running with you. And besides, even if you did run, even if Bowen was all right, there’s no way you’d get far. Not with the manpower they’ve got on your tail.”
“You can live in the tunnels,” Arrin says, a sly gleam in her eyes.
“No!” Bowen and I say at the same time.
“Suit yourself. But where to? I can get you to the outskirts of the city or inside the wall, or if you want—”
“What?” Bowen says, interrupting her. “You can get us inside the wall?”
She spins around and grins at him, nodding. The match flickers out, and Tommy lights another.
“I don’t believe it,” Bowen says, his words a challenge.
Arrin shrugs. “Believe it or not. Doesn’t change the fact that I know a way in. I know a lot more than just that. Like why the raiders always keep a beast in their camp. And why the lab wants her so bad.” She nods her greasy head at me.
“Why?” Bowen asks, his eyes darting between Arrin and me.
“Because she’s the first child to wake from a coma. And when she woke, she wasn’t crazy anymore,” Arrin whispers, as if it’s the biggest secret in the world.
Chills dance down my spine.
“How do you know?” Tommy asks.
Arrin doesn’t answer. Bowen does. “The Fec’s clothes. They’re standard lab uniforms. Patient uniforms. They used to be Fiona’s. And I’ve never heard of a Ten who didn’t turn. Except for Fiona. And the bruises in the creases of her elbows. They’re from needles. She’s from the lab.”
Arrin nods. Tommy stares at me, eyes shining with amazement.
“Since you’ve got everything figured out, how did she get on the wrong side of the wall?” Arrin challenges.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. Have you?”
Arrin shakes her head. “But I know why they want her so bad. They need her back so they can figure out how to cure the others. But …”
“What?” I take a step toward Arrin. “But what?”
“But …” She looks right into my eyes. “They’re going to have to kill you to get the answers.”
The match goes out and I’m blind. A cool, damp hand finds mine and folds around it. “I won’t let the lab kill you.” Bowen’s breath is warm against my ear. His lips press against my temple. “Arris, take us inside the wall.”
His words stun me. “Wait. Inside the wall? You are taking me to the lab?”
His fingers tighten on mine. “Never, Fiona. I’ll never take you to the lab. But what if I’m right about your sister being alive and living inside the wall? Do you think she’d hide us?”
A wave of relief and hope shudder through me. My sister. Lis. “Yes.”
“Then that’s settled. Take us inside the wall, Arris,” Bowen says, his voice sounding stronger every time he talks.
“Are you sure we can trust him?” Tommy asks.
“Do we have a choice?” Bowen answers.
Another hand finds my empty hand. A small, hot hand, with jagged nails and grit-covered skin. “Tommy,” Arrin whispers. “Hold Bowen’s hand so we’re all connected.”
Tommy splashes through the water. “Got it,” he says, his deep voice echoing against cement. “You want me to light another match, Fec?”
“Nope. Darkness is my friend.”
“Thank you, Arrin,” I whisper, squeezing her scrawny hand.
“For what?” she says, her voice suspicious.
“Helping me.”
She laughs, and another chill races down my spine.