Rebel Bound Read online

  I move slowly, gliding out of bed and catching myself on the balls of my feet. The room is pitch black, but I’m used to keeping a map of things in my head.

  I left my clothes at the foot of the bed, like the other girls. I gather them silently, picking up Mardy’s more practical boots instead of the loafers Ryanne gave me.

  The hinges protest a little when I open the door. I freeze, waiting for any sign that I’ve woken someone. Mardy rolls over. I wait patiently for her breathing to even out again. If you move careful, other scavs don’t notice you. So I patiently open the door slowly enough to keep it from creaking until I can slip through.

  I move faster out in the hallway. After pausing to pull on my clothes, I head for the exit to the left, the one Mardy took me through when we were searching for the topside door. I don’t want to risk running into someone.

  Even the lights in the tunnel are off as I step from the carpeted hall of the hotel onto concrete. They’re giving the generators a rest, conserving fuel. Obviously, the Impartialists raid more Coalition facilities than farms.

  I move to the side until I can touch the wall of the tunnel with my good hand, then use it as a guide, breaking into a jog until the lingering weakness in my body forces me to stop for a rest.

  What am I doing? I ask myself. It’s AM. I can’t go topside right now with the sun up. But my restless feet keep me moving—past the switchback at the end, past the sleeping animals, around the curve of the tunnel. Maybe I can wait by the exit for PM, slip out for a few moments in the first of dark, breath the air. It won’t take much to satisfy me, I tell myself. If I can just get another taste of topside, I can handle this underground shelter better.

  My footsteps slow and stop when I recognize the echoing whisper of voices ahead. I glimpse a light and press myself back into one of the blocked-off stairwells. I don’t see anyone, but after a moment, I can make out words in the whisper of voices.

  “... what they said?”

  “I heard it from three different sources.” Jate's voice sends a shiver through me.

  “This might finally be the break we're looking for.” This is Ryanne.

  “Or it could be a trap.” Someone else says.

  The light seems to come from the room where the radiation suits are hung. I creep closer.

  “Lucio will decide what to do with the information,” Jate says. “For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”

  I look around for a place to hide as I approach the stairs. The paintings on the wall catch the light as it bounces around from a moving source.

  “The check-in points are marked on your map. If you don’t report every half hour, Ehris will alert us, and we’ll send someone to your last location.”

  “Should be pretty deserted up there this time of AM,” says another person I don’t recognize.

  The tile walls are smooth here, with no place to hide if they emerge suddenly. There are sounds of movement coming from the stairs ahead—slick fabric catching on heavier knitting, zippers going up, the clicks and taps of weapons being checked. Are they going topside in the AM? The sheer madness of it boggles my mind.

  I’m turning back to get to the safety of the blocked stairs when I sense they’re coming out. I crouch down, making myself as small as I can in the crack between the floor and the wall. They shouldn’t expect an eavesdropper, so with any luck, they’ll turn away toward the exit without thinking to look back over their shoulders.

  Figures begin to emerge from the room, people in yellow armor that practically glows in the dark. There are five of them, all carrying weapons strapped to their hips. Except for the color, they look like Coalition soldiers. They wear helmets with clear shields through which I catch glimpses of faces.

  Jate leads the way with Ryanne close behind. He carries a small flashlight that illuminates the tunnel ahead of them. I haven’t seen a working flashlight in years.

  I’m just starting to relax as I watch them all turn away and walk toward the exit. One more figure steps out of the stairwell. It’s hard to tell, with the flashlight moving away in the opposite direction, but I think I recognize Sloan. I catch my breath.

  She carries her weapon in her hands. The shape is strange, with a round disk in the center and a thin barrel. It’s not as long as an old-fashioned rifle, but it’s thinner than the Coalition sonics. Unlike the others, Sloan doesn’t immediately turn and walk away. She stops at the opening and scans the tunnel in both directions. In a moment, I know she’s seen me. She starts walking toward me, raising the weapon as she comes.

  “Who’s there?” Even muffled through her helmet, her voice echoes faintly.

  I stand up slowly. I'm not willing to chance that the Impartialists, with all their resources, don’t have bullets for their guns.

  Sloan’s expression goes from suspicious to gleeful. “You? I might've known it. I should just kill you right now for what you did to me on the mat today. Filthy scav. Thought you could get the better of me?”

  I decide it would be wiser not to say anything. Am I about to die? If I leave Mardy alone here, how will she take it? At least Dupont is much better than Lincoln Shelter.

  To my surprise, however, Sloan doesn’t shoot me. She raises the weapon suddenly to the ceiling and calls in a louder voice, “Jate, back here.”

  In a few moments, the group that had rounded the hall ahead comes running back. Jate’s flashlight bounces, sending light shooting all over the tunnel. He stops when he sees me, his expression shocked.

  “Caelin, what are you doing here?” he asks.

  Embarrassment overtakes me. I suddenly wish I’d just stayed in bed, staring into the darkness.

  Ryanne steps up beside Jate. “Shouldn't you be sleeping?”

  The whole group waits for me to answer. I shift my feet nervously. “I've had enough beds to last me a lifetime.”

  The corners of Jate's mouth twitch, but Sloan’s expression is calculating, as if deciphering some secret coded message I put into the words.

  “Well, you’d better get back to the hotel,” Ryanne says.

  “Wait!” Jate holds up a hand to stall me. Silence descends as the others watch uncertainly. He rubs the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful, like he’s concocting a plan of some sort. Finally, he says, “Suit up.”

  Sloan actually gapes at him. Her expression is so comical, I nearly laugh until I remember the gun she’s holding.

  “You want me to come with you?” I ask.

  “My gut tells me we might need you out there, Caelin?”

  “Jate,” Ryanne says, “she's injured.”

  “I know. That's why you’ll look after her, keep her safe.”

  She frowns at him. “What are you doing, Jate?”

  “Sloan, get Caelin into a stealth suit. Ryanne, you’re with me. The rest of you, get moving! We’re on a schedule here.”

  “Me?” Sloan protests, but it’s too late. Everyone else has retreated back to the exit and Jate is arguing so quietly with Ryanne that I can’t make out their words.

  I don’t like this arrangement any better than Sloan does, and I shrink back away from her.

  “Well?” she demands angrily, “You heard Jate. We obey orders around here, scav. Now, get in there!”

  I hesitate, wondering if I should just turn around and leave. Sloan wouldn’t dare shoot me in the back, would she? Not right under Jate’s nose. But my curiosity is piqued. I want to know where they’re going and why. I decide to play along, for now.

  Just before I step inside the stairwell, Ryanne takes off down the tunnel at a dead run, going back to the occupied section of the shelter. I don’t dare ask why. Sloan is right behind me, nearly pushing me into the stairwell.

  Putting on a yellow suit is tricky. Sloan makes no move to help me, just stands there leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs, gun tucked under one arm, eyes boring holes through me. I wonder what her story is, how she got roped into the Impartialists. Her acerbic attitude makes sense to me when I consider tha
t she’s from the Undercity. What I don’t understand is why Lucio would let anyone so arrogant into his private shelter after all his preaching about people helping each other.

  “I can’t imagine why Jate wants you in armor,” Sloan says when I finally manage to get the suit up over my shoulders. The left arm dangles empty. “You belong in scav clothes with all the other topside trash.” Her mouth twists in a sardonic smile.

  “Better that than a walking target,” I mumble, looking pointedly at her yellow outfit.

  “You don’t know anything, scav.”

  Ryanne comes up behind Sloan. Her expression is annoyed behind the visor of her helmet. She lays a hand on Sloan’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. Get out topside and to your station.”

  To my surprise, Sloan holsters her gun. “Yes, ma’am.” She gives me one last glare, however. “You’d better not get us all killed.” The air in the stairwell seems clearer once she’s gone.

  “Sloan answers to you?” I ask as Ryanne comes up the steps to help me with a jacket.

  “I’m second-in-command,” Ryanne says.

  “Oh.” I feel small and stupid. “Where are we going?”

  She seems flustered. “We’re headed to your old neighborhood. That’s why Jate thinks you can help.”

  “But you’re a scav too.” I wince as she yanks the zipper up. The suit is a combination of thick mesh cloth and hard plates.

  “Here,” she says, handing me a foam earpiece. “It will block the sonic blasts of the Coalition guns and let us communicate up there, as long as we’re not too far away.” I shove it into my right ear, and her voice starts to come from the earpiece—tinny, electronic, and laced with static.

  “I was up by Gaithersburg,” Ryanne continues, taking up the thread of our conversation. “I was holed up in a mall. I’m not as familiar with downtown as you are.”

  “Good pickings there?”

  She helps me with the right glove. “For a while. The last couple of years, it got pretty slim. That’s why I joined up with Jate.”

  The mention of Jate makes me uncomfortable. “You’ve been together a long time?” I ask carefully.

  Ryanne looks up at me sharply. “Together?” Then her face crumples into a smile. “You think that Jate and I ... that we . . .” She shakes her head, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I worked my way up in the ranks of Jate’s team until I was his second. That stayed the same once we joined up with Lucio, but Jate’s never thought of me as anything other than a soldier.”

  “And a friend, I’m sure,” I hasten to add. Relief washes through me, though I wonder if Jate views their relationship the same way.

  “We watch out for each other, just like I’m going to watch out for you up there.”

  “I can watch out for myself,” I stubbornly assert.

  “With a broken arm?” Ryanne pulls a helmet down over my head and fastens it in place around my neck. “Besides, this is AM. The rules are a little different.”

  CHAPTER 16

  When we step out of the Dupont exit into topside, I realize why Sloan ridiculed me for making fun of the yellow armor. Topside is bright, brighter than anything I’ve ever seen before. Even though the shield on my face automatically darkens to compensate, I have to narrow my eyes into slits. The yellow armor blends into the brightness. My first instinct is to shrink back into the shadow of the exit.

  Ryanne pulls me forward. Her visor has become shaded too so that I have to look hard to see her face. “Might as well get used to feeling naked,” she quips.

  Jate has his weapon out, cradling it against one arm as he scans the street we’re on. He slams the door of the shelter closed, and I hear some sort of lock click into place.

  Ahead of us, I see Dupont Circle. It used to be a park before the explosion, but the trees are bare, the fountain at the center broken and crumbling. It’s a typical topside scene except for the light making everything harsh and open.

  I glance up at the sky. The sun seems to be directly overhead, a burning ball.

  “The sun would be even brighter without that ash,” Ryanne says as though she’s read my mind.

  “My father told me the ash cloud will disappear someday, then the radiation will be worse.” I look down to get my bearings. Lincoln Shelter is to the south.

  “I think we’re all clear,” Jate says. He glances at me with a brief smile that makes my heart thud before turning back to his scrutiny of the street. “Well, Caelin, this is where we part ways. Ryanne, you know what to do.”

  Ryanne gives a sharp nod. “Meet you at the rendezvous. Caelin, follow me.”

  She pulls her own weapon out as we move away from Jate. Even in the AM, it seems we’re keeping to what little shadows we can find as we slink along the sides of buildings and cross streets at a run.

  “Who are we hiding from?” I pant as I catch up to her after one crossing. I can’t imagine anyone else being out in this light, this heat.

  Her eyes are constantly moving, but she pauses long enough to give me a smile. “Probably no one, but better safe than sorry.”

  Even keeping to the sides of crumbled buildings, I feel exposed. I wish I had a weapon like she does, even though I’d have no idea how to use the thing.

  Ryanne leads me in a southwest direction, and I remember Jate thought my knowledge of downtown would be useful. But she never consults me for directions. At one point, she pulls out a paper with her gloved hand and studies it. I can see the markings of a map on it.

  “I have to check in with Dupont.” She looks up from the map and studies the buildings around us. “We don’t want them to send out a search party.”

  We turn off the main road we’ve followed for the last couple of blocks and make our way to a chunky gray building with six stories. Ryanne cautiously enters, waving me back and peeking around the door with her gun ready. I’m not sure why she’s being so paranoid. I haven’t seen a single person besides Jate since we emerged at Dupont. Even Coalition sentries will be in shelters all AM.

  It’s a relief to get out of the street, though plenty of light comes in through all the building’s windows. We find stairs and move down into a basement. Like most topside buildings, everything is covered in dust and has a feeling of abandonment. The building used to be a museum of some sort, like the basement of the Lincoln Memorial. Most of the exhibits are still there, rotting behind smudged or cracked glass. Ryanne ignores them, heading for a door at the end of a hall.

  “How are you going to contact Dupont?” I ask. “They’re nearly a mile north of us.” At least, I think they are. I begin to doubt this assumption even as I voice it.

  “The tech team connected our comms in the shelter with cables that run underground,” Ryanne says. “We placed units topside to tap into these cables so we can communicate, since long distance wireless won’t work with the radiation levels.”

  I think maybe I’ve discovered something else she and Jate were doing when they arrived late to breakfast yesterday.

  Ryanne takes up a position to the side of the door and waves me back behind her again. Reaching out slowly, she turns the handle of the door, then swings it inward suddenly, bringing the tip of her gun to bear on the room beyond.

  “Empty,” she says with relief.

  I follow her into what looks like an office with a lopsided desk missing one leg. There are a couple of ratty blankets on the floor and empty cans of food. I realize someone has been using this for a shelter, though it’s not far enough underground to be much protection.

  Ryanne swings her gun over one shoulder in a casual gesture that suggests she’s very familiar with the weapon. She goes to the side of a tall metal filing cabinet and reaches a hand into the space between the wall and the cabinet, sliding something out. It’s a closed laptop. She plops herself onto the floor and unfolds the computer in her lap. It’s connected to a cable that runs back behind the cabinet. She begins tapping her fingers on the keyboard.

  “How does that thing have power?” I ask incredulo
usly.

  “Battery pack. We charged it before we hooked it up.”

  I look around at the discarded mess. “Lucky whoever lives here didn’t find it.”

  “Naw. This place is abandoned. We watched it for several days just to make sure.”

  I don’t like to think what might have happened to the owner. “What are you typing?”

  “Just telling them we’re still here, en route to the rendezvous point.”

  I move around so I can see the screen, but I can’t decipher the jumble of letters scrolling up it.

  “Did you tell them I’m with you? I don’t want Mardy to worry.”

  Ryanne snaps the lid on the computer shut and slides it back into its hiding place. “You’ll be back before Mardy wakes up, so she won’t even miss you.”

  She leads the way out of the building without looking at me, keeping several steps ahead so I don’t have a chance to question her further. After walking for half an hour, I’m getting tired, and my steps lag farther and farther behind.

  Ryanne doesn’t stop until we’re across the street from Lincoln Shelter. She leans against a dead tree and waits for me to catch up. The tall columns of the old monument look whiter in the AM, and I can’t see the rough patches of crumbling rock from here. I sit on the ground, my back to the tree, and gulp in air.

  She pulls something out of a pocket of her uniform and hands it to me. It’s a can of applesauce, something I haven’t seen since I was a kid. I stare at the faded photo on the label. “What’s this for?”

  “It will buy you a couple of nights in the shelter. That should give me enough time to get Mardy out to you, then I’ll give you directions to another stash you can use to get that cast off and keep you going a little longer.”