The Ward

21


5:00 A.M., SUNDAY


Pressure overhead from the spinning props churns the water in the canal, makes it look like a storm is coming in. I cover my ears. What was a rumbling before is now a full-blown screeching, and it only gets louder. The heli flies in, then slows. A rope ladder drops from an open hatch on the side. A figure starts to climb down.

I watch, racking my brain to formulate a plan.

This must be happening on all four sides of the building—the scouts each taking a separate entrance, probably planning to regroup in the stairwell.

I could hide—no doubt the building is big enough. But that’d only postpone the inevitable: once Chief Dunn discovers that the spring is gone, he’s gonna want to speak with me. At least if I’m here, I can head things off at the pass. Get to him right away, before he has too much time to think me a liar.

The closest heli flies forward, dangles the scout through the air.

May as well let ’em know I’m here from the get-go. I stick my head out over the sill and give a wave to the pilot. I can tell he’s seen me; he brings the man on the ladder right up to the window.

As the figure gets closer, I begin to recognize the broad build, the mustache. Even the way he holds himself—too rough, too much authority. He’s no scout.

The chief . . .

The man lets go of the rope with one hand and grabs on to the escape ladder, but only once he opens his mouth am I sure of it: “What the hell are you doing here, Dane?”

It’s him.

His mouth moves, he yells something else but I can’t hear over the roar of the heli as it rises up into the sky. It turns, joins up with the remaining three, and they all head west, probably to wait at the nearby headquarters rather than eat up gasoline in the sky for an hour.

I back away from the window as he jumps through it from the escape ladder.

“Well?” he asks again.

My brain turns to mush—I hadn’t thought that far. Why am I here?

An answer comes, one that I hope he buys. Stumbling through the words: “I . . . I came to make sure you’d find it—it was tricky the first time. And I wasn’t sure I’d remembered it correctly. Head wound and all.” I’d point to my temple, but all I’ve got to show for my near-death experience is a scar. And a barely visible one at that.

Chief Dunn glares at me. I can tell from the slanted look he’s giving that he don’t know what to make of my answer. All he says is, “Lead the way,” and motions toward the stairwell.

Now I get to drop the bomb.

Keeping my eyes downcast: “There’s a problem, sir.”

He stops midstride. Turns.

I swallow before going on. “Someone’s been here,” I spit out. “The spring I told you about . . . It’s gone.”

His demeanor changes. He draws his shoulders higher, clasps his hands behind his back. Marches toward me, each step slow and even-paced.

“What do you mean, gone?” he growls.

“I don’t understand it neither. . . . When I went to scout before you got here, someone had cemented the hole in the wall, and all that was left of the spring was a pit of mud. This is the site, though, I swear.”

He’s quiet. It lasts for miles.

I bring myself to look up, find him dark-eyed and glowering.

Finally: “Show me.”


Chief Dunn kicks at the mud, spraying it into the cavern wall.

It takes all I’ve got not to jump back.

“Governor’s not going to be happy,” he spits.

I’m left alone with the scouts as he crawls back into the abandoned tunnel, so I sit myself down, unsure what to do. One of the three men mutters to himself, something ’bout knowing this was a “bunk mission.” The others nod their heads. Start talking ’bout another Appeal. They ignore me, which I’m fine with, ’cause that’s how I hear Chief’s voice through the wall.

“Yes, sir . . . I don’t know, sir,” I hear him say. He’s apologetic—a tone I’ve never heard him use before. Must be speaking with someone higher on the totem pole. And there’s only one person higher up than Dunn.

Governor Voss.

“The girl claims no one else knows. . . .” he goes on, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure he’s talking about me. “Yes, she’s here now. I don’t believe she’s telling the whole truth either, sir. Absolutely, I’ll call in another agent from HQ straightaway. He’ll keep an eye out and report back to you. Yes, sir, I understand what’s riding on this find.” The conversation comes to a halt.

Without thinking, I start gnawing at my nails. They don’t believe me, they’re going to have me watched. I don’t like it, not one bit.

After some more time straining my ears, Chief responds. “A half dozen squads? . . . Within the hour, yes . . . I’ll leave right away, sir.” Then the tunnel’s quiet again, and I hear him tapping the commands into his cuffcomm.

He’s leaving? And he’s gathering squads. . . .

“Dane!” Chief barks. “Out here, now!”

I jump and wriggle myself through the crawl space, head peeking out the other side. “What’s that, sir?” I ask, pretending I somehow missed his yelling.

“The sample came back positive,” he begins, not even looking at me. “You were right, it’s fresh. As such, I’ll be suspending your pay until you can tell me where it went.” He says it so easily.

I stand there like an idiot, jaw gaping wide.

“Sir . . . ? I don’t understand—I found the stuff, and I’m being punished?” The words croak out of my mouth, one by one. He can’t do this.

Chief Dunn spins to face me. In the flashlight’s harsh glow, he could be the Reaper. “It doesn’t add up,” he says in a growl. “There’s something you know. And whatever it is that you’re not telling, the governor will find out. Now is not the time for games.”

“Chief,” I plead. “I’ll look all over the Ward if you want me to. It’s just my . . . my friend—you saw her—she’s in the hospital. Surgery’s scheduled for today. We’ve got bills to pay—”

Chief Dunn laughs. It’s dry and full of meanness. “Well, here’s a simple fix, Dane: as of right now, the surgery is no longer scheduled for today. Problem solved. Can’t have you running to the hospital, wasting our time.” A pause. “And don’t think I won’t know.”

I’m unable to swallow, a slew of curses forming inside my mouth with nowhere to go. I choke them back, feeling like my tongue has grown in size, and all my bones too. I step forward—all 206 of them want to fight. Smash his face to the wall—but I stop myself, when I remember my size. I’m not that strong. I’d get myself killed. “She’ll die if you do that,” I finally manage.

“Not my priority, Dane! The West Isle is in an uproar. People are afraid of the Blight, and the water crisis has grown dire. Governor Voss doesn’t want your excuses, and neither do I. Get me a location, we’ll talk about your friend’s surgery.” Pointing in the direction of the stairwell, “Dismissed!”

I don’t even give Dunn the requisite “sir.” I just spin away, desperate to be as far from him as possible, and race through the empty subway tunnel, all the way up the stairs.

At the top of the stairwell, I collapse in a heap, head spinning.

He wants me to find another spring? I can’t breathe, and I don’t even fight off the hornet’s nest swarming in my stomach. Only one word repeats itself over and over again in my mind: No—no, no, no.

No.

Not after what Callum showed me on the Core.

Especially not after Dunn telling me he’s canceling Aven’s surgery.

Dunn’s a fool if he thinks that will keep me from going to see her. Clearly he’s never cared about anyone, ever. Now that I don’t know how long she’s got, I have to get to her. Have to be with her. He’s just made the hospital my first stop.

And after that—Callum’s. To bring Aven whatever medicine he’s able to concoct from the mud, that won’t make her sicker. Reaching for the cuffcomm he gave me, I type in a message:

Can you do it?

It’s a ramshackle plan. It’s no plan at all. It’s a decision to step forward, one foot at a time, for now. But it does the trick. It’s enough. I’m able to pick myself up, force my head thinking again. Focus on how to make the not-plan a reality.

I head back into the empty room on the fifteenth floor. The quadrant is quiet, free of roaring helis, so I know the coast is clear. I rotate the dial to the side of my cuffcomm, trying to decide who to call on.

It’s too early in the morning to ask another favor of Ter—he just brought me to Mad Ave a few hours ago, and I doubt his dad would want him running back to the racing district. Once a month for the races is danger enough.

Calling Derek is out of the question. I am “barely a friend” after all. . . .

I find the channel I use to call Benny. I hate to ask him—he already saves my butt on a regular basis—but I’ve got no choice.

I need to get out of here.