Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2) Read online

A full-on, racking cough stopped Fran in her tracks. She doubled over, lungs and throat burning, unable to control the spasm. Appearing suddenly like a Graphie, the outburst took her by surprise and her vision blurred as she coughed so deep, she thought she was going to heave. Finally, the fit subsided. She wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. Her legs felt tired and Fran slunked back to camp, envisioning climbing into her cot and closing her eyes.

  Chapter 16

  RETTER

  “Got any food?” A barking cough followed the Rebel’s request.

  Ret set the light gadget to his side and removed his pack. He fished around for the dried fruit and then slowly, as if feeding a wild animal, held out a handful. The Rebel snatched the offering, raking dirty nails over Ret’s skin. He shoved his fist into his mouth, and as he chewed, remnants spilled out and bounced off the floor of the vent. Ret offered another drink from his satchel and this time, the spindly arm reached out and seized the flask without hesitation. After having his fill, the Rebel leaned back against the metal wall. A lengthy belch rolled up from his stomach and thundered out of his mouth.

  “Thanks, man.” He blew out a long sigh, pat his belly, and another belch rumbled to the surface. “What did you say your name is?”

  “They call me Retter.”

  “Well thanks for the chow, Retter.”

  He offered his fist to Ret. “Pete.”

  Ret gripped his arm just below the crease by his elbow and Pete flinched away with a look of alarm. Ret lowered his chin. “Good to know you, Pete.”

  As the gadget lay idle, darkness began to infiltrate their space. Ret grazed his fingers over the glossy surface and they were bathed in new light. Pete acknowledge him with a nod and then scrutinized Ret’s appearance. “West Winger?” He lifted a single brow, adding a visual question mark to the end of his sentence.

  “No, I’m not from the West side. I—“ Ret looked down at his attire and brushed away the accumulating soot from his arms and chest. Is this how they dressed on the West side?

  “Are you sure?” Pete’s intonation went up on the last word causing his voice to crack as he interrupted. “I think I’d remember that face if I saw it around the East side.”

  Retter shook his head. “I’m not from either side, Pete.”

  Pete’s brow lifted a little higher. “Say that again?”

  “I’m from the outside.” Ret thought for a moment, trying to remember how Wolf had once referred to his home. “Open air. I’m from the open air.”

  “Shut up.” Pete’s words drew out on a hiss. His mouth hung open and his eyes reflected the fading light like glass stones at the bottom of the river. He continued his shocked whisper.

  “It’s real?”

  “Yes. It’s real.” The light gadget began to fade. Ret tapped it on his side. “We need to round up the Rebels, Pete. Where are they hiding?”

  Pete’s brows took a dive. “Who are you?” His eyes darted from side to side as he slowly inched back.

  “I’m Retter. From the open air.” Remembering Chan’s note, Ret set down the light and shuffled around his pack. As the glow receded, the Rebel flipped over onto all fours and scampered outside of the reaches of light.

  “Pete. Wait. I can help you.” Ret’s voice echoed down the empty chamber punctuated by a loud gonging as Pete scurried off. Ret slapped at the sidewall and felt the vibrations undulate along the metal, creating a loud ringing in his ears. His first encounter with a Rebel and he’d blown it. His hand touched the parchment Chan had given him.

  “Pete,” he yelled into the darkness. “I have a message from your old leader, Chan.” Ret held his breath.

  The sounds through the tunnel hushed.

  “Yes, Pete. He’s alive and waiting for you to join him in the open air.”

  A silence hung heavy in the darkness. Did he linger outside of the light? Listening? Contemplating? A draft moved through the vent and along with it, the metal creaked and moaned.

  “How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick?” Pete’s strained voice bounced off the flimsy walls as it traveled to Ret’s ears.

  “I have no reason to trick you, Pete. I’m here to lead you out.”

  Ret waited, counting off the passing seconds remembering what Wolf had told him when they’d first outlined the plan. “The Council played us like fools, Ret. If anyone made it out of the arena alive, they’re likely to be pretty jumpy.”

  Ret thought back to the injured raccoon he’d found by the river years ago. The one he wanted to bring back to camp to nurse its wounds. As soon as he had extended his hand out towards the animal, however, it had bared its teeth, and on an angry growl, warned Ret to stay away. Would this injured Rebel jump out of the darkness and attempt to tear at his flesh like the angry raccoon? The Council had done a good job implanting fear.

  “Me, Chan, and even Wolf—we’re all working together, Pete.”

  Something moved. He couldn’t hear the shift, rather he felt a low vibration through

  the metal. Something had sparked interest. Wolf? It wasn’t a stretch to think she’d turned a Rebel head during her time down here.

  After another hum off the metal, Pete’s face appeared back into the light-filled space. Ret flinched, startled by his sudden appearance.

  “What did you do with her?” The words hissed through bared teeth, and a flash bolted from his eyes like those of the injured raccoon.

  A new line of sweat emerged over Ret’s brow. His gut tightened at the thought of going toe-to-toe in a cramped tube with a feral Rebel.

  He kept his voice low and measured. “She made it out, Pete. She’s alive. She’s outside.”

  “Alive?” Pete’s voice cracked.

  Ret watched the Rebel’s brow slowly lift, followed by a grin. A ghastly grin in a skeletal face, but still an improvement. Definitely something there. “Come with me. You can be a big help getting the others out.”

  “Wolf’s alive!” Pete’s laughter bounced off the metal walls followed by a wheezy breath that gurgled in an unhealthy manner. Pete’s narrow shoulders shook as his body dug deep to rid itself of excess phlegm.

  “You alright?” Ret offered up the water satchel, and Pete gave a thumbs-up while he continued hacking. He pounded on his chest and then spat a wad of mucus behind him before grabbing the satchel. He sucked down a few swallows, gasping between each mouthful like a drowning victim. Ret thought of Wolf on the river bank …

  “She wasn’t hurt during the escape then?” Pete put a hand to his chest, and a loud wheeze rattled through his windpipe. “How did she do it? How did she get out?”

  “I’ll show you. That’s why I’m here.”

  Pete eyeballed Ret for an extra heartbeat and then shrugged his bony shoulders. “Alright then.” He gathered up the pile of canvas blankets. “I say we take this show on the road.”

  Ret nodded in agreement. “So, where can we find the others?”

  Pete shoved the wad under his arm. “After the fiasco in the Agora, we all split up … every man for himself, you might say. I know for a fact Folsom didn’t make it out. As far as the others? Your guess is as good as mine. Yours is the first face I’ve seen around here in a long time.”

  He looked past Ret as if spying the depths of the tunnel. “I hear things sometimes that make me wonder. You know, the clanging of movement, the hum of a vent, but when I tune my ears in, I get nothing. Probably just my mind playing tricks on me.”

  “Can you get me to the Agora?”

  Pete laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Security’s pretty heavy these days. Graphies at every exit. The Council’s been trying to starve us out. And it’s been working …”

  “Pete,” Ret asked, “do you believe in miracles?”

  Chapter 17

  FRAN

  She woke with her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her throat burned for a drink of water. Fran reached for the container she kept next to her bed, “just in case,” Mom had said. Of course at the time, she wished Mom would d
ial-down the hovering, but now she welcomed the cool water at her fingertips. A yelp flew from Fran’s lips as she rolled to her side, and her flesh met the soft padding of her bed. She reached down to touch the tender spot and felt a bump the size of a large pebble. Whatthe…?

  She lifted her hand to grab the container, and noticed her arm, also spotted with similar lumps. They had all crusted with scabs and a tender red ring encircled each one. She had flashbacks of scratching her flesh throughout the night and remembered the pesky mosquitoes from the night prior. Had she really scratched herself raw?

  She sat up to take a drink. Her head felt big and puffy. And hot. After taking a lengthy swallow of water, she flopped back down onto the bed and closed her eyes. The room spun in slow circles. Her eyes shot open, and she grasped the edges of the bed. Had she fallen back into a horrific detox fever? Could it come back like that? Fran closed her eyes and tried to ride the slow spinning motion into sleep.

  Chapter 18

  RETTER

  “Miracles?” Pet asked.

  “Sure.” Ret nodded. “Like seeing things that go beyond reasoning.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of things that don’t make sense,” Pete responded. “If that’s what you’re calling miracles.”

  “Good. Just keep an open mind then.” Ret tapped the light. “So, which way do we go?”

  “Actually, we need to go back from where you just came.” Pete pointed toward the darkness at Ret’s back.

  “I mean, I suppose we could go the other way …” Pete looked over his own shoulder and assessed the tunnel before shaking his head. “No. We should definitely take the shortcut.”

  “The shorter the better,” Ret agreed. “Lead the way, Pete.”

  Pete shimmied up next to Ret. “Sure. I’ll just …” He flattened himself against the bulwark and attempted an awkward stretch around Ret’s shoulders. Is he trying to move around me? Ret pressed his own body into the far side of the vent to give Pete more space to pass.

  “Hang on. I got this,” Pete said while repositioning himself.

  Pete rolled onto his back and rested his weight onto his shoulder blades. He pedaled his feet through the air trying to catch the sidewall. Is he trying to roll over me? Ret folded into a ball and listened to Pete grunt and wheeze while attempting to propel himself up and over his human blockade. After landing with an unsuccessful thump, Ret peeked out from beneath his forearms and saw Pete lying in the tangle of dirty blankets.

  “Here.” Ret handed off the light gadget. “If you can keep the light shining in front of me, I can lead. Just let me know which way to go.”

  “Great idea.” Pete agreed, while snatching the light.

  Ret moved forward with Pete at his heels. Pete struggled, holding his load of blankets and the light and as the beam hopped from left to right, Ret wished he would have manipulated the light on his own.

  “Hey, Pete. I can hold the light,” Ret offered.

  “Oh, that’s alright,” Pete laughed. “No offense, man. I’m just a little more agile at tunnel trekking.”

  Pete labored behind him, and the erratic movement of light triggered a dizzying headache. Ret paused and closed his eyes until Pete’s coarse wheezing neared.

  “Hey, Pete. Hand me the light,” Ret said.

  Pete laughed. “No worries, man. I got it.”

  “Sure, I know. But I have another idea.” Ret torqued his arm behind him and waited until he felt the device in his hand. He yanked a leather cord from his belt and fashioned a headband before tucking the light into its fold and then craned his neck to face Pete. “This ought to hold.”

  “Nice.” Pete laughed. “Light Ninja.”

  Ret shrugged. “Sure. Ninja.”

  With the light now shining a straight beam ahead, Ret followed the twists and turns of the darkness with ease. Even rebooting the light was as simple as a quick shake of his head and the tunnel stayed lit as they moved.

  After a bit, a foreign aroma entered the tunnel. Ret suppressed his gag and halted. Food? As well as the stale aroma, a glowing up ahead spoke of the end. That can’t be the smell of their food.

  “What’s going on? Why’d you stop?” Pete’s gravelly voice urged him forward. “My chops are watering. I can’t practically taste the pizza.”

  Ret took a measured breath and shuddered as he released it back into the tunnel.

  “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger.” Pete smacked his lips together and Ret’s stomach recoiled a little deeper into his belly.

  Ret reached up and removed the Light Ninja from its band and placed it behind him on the floor of the vent. He moved into the reaches of the light coming from beyond, and as he neared the mesh covering, an odd sensation engulfed his body. The small hairs on his arms rose to attention, and a tight feeling in his throat made him swallow hard.

  “They’re waiting.” Pete sounded defeated.

  “Who are they?” Ret asked.

  “Graphies. Stationed at every vent opening in the Agora. I thought they might have missed this one, but I guess not.”

  Ret maneuvered around and found Pete, feet overhead with his slender body conforming to the curve in the wall. “Like I said, they’re trying to starve us out.” His voice sunk with disappointment. “No cheeseburgers today, man.”

  Ret nodded. “What’s the code here?”

  “Are you nuts? The Graphie is right there.” Pete’s voice cracked, and he held in another cough. “Listen,” he croaked. “You’re not from around here, right?”

  “Right,” Ret answered.

  “Well then, believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to feel the hit of one of these patrols.”

  Ret wasn’t convinced. “The code, Pete.”

  Pete waved his hands through the air. “Just for the record, Ret, I’m against this whole idea. But … AW7. Four asterisks for the override.” He coughed again. “If there even is an override, anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

  Ret wiped nervous palms onto his Canvies before waving his hand past the light beam. Although he knew his father wouldn’t send him in without absolute certainty of Ret’s invisibility, the what if’s pulled tight in his throat. He turned to Pete. “Back up, would you?”

  Pete obliged and scurried back while Ret swiped in the code. The venting hummed, and Ret poked his head through the opening like a mole coming out of its hole, leaving Pete behind.

  Immediately the brilliance of light and chaos whooshed past him, like an asphyxiating wind. The biting awareness of the nearby Graphie was felt on Ret’s skin. He gazed at the hovering holograph, amazed at its likeness to a man.

  His father had explained how the holographs had been rendered using mirrors and infrared beams in addition to complex programming sequences. Yet until now, Ret hadn’t quite been able to piece it all together. The image before him had a translucent quality, with waves of light rippling up and down its form. And eerily luminescent. Fascinating!

  Ret shimmied from the vent, pretended to mess with his shoe, then he unfolded his body with a sigh of relief. His cramped back fought the stretch. He pressed a fist onto his spine to ease the tightness. When extended to his full six-foot-plus stature, he noted his head reached no higher than the shoulder of the Graphie. Just like Wolf had said—a figure larger than life.

  He lifted his gaze to the eye-holes from which bolts of red light flicked randomly about the court. Ret shuddered but remained next to the image, waiting until he felt confident of his own invisibility. As he stood next to the Graphie unnoticed, Ret’s heart began to slow.

  From inside the vent, he heard Pete, “Whoa! Who are you?”

  Ret averted his gaze from the vent and answered openly. “Like you said, Pete. I’m not from around here. Stay put. I’m going to take a look around.”

  Ret checked for landmarks before moving away from the vent. He noticed racks of canvas clothing similar to what he wore lined behind a glass wall just to the left of the security Graphie. A peek over the doorway boasted a sign that read Fr
esnos.

  Got it.

  He moved toward the throng.

  An endless river of human bodies rushed past Ret. He gauged the current before entering the flow, realizing he needed to time it just right or be trampled in their midst. Just like jumping into the river back home, he held his breath, launched, and became swept up in the tide.

  Ret tried to examine the faces around him as he was pushed and cajoled within the stream. Most chins lay buried deep in high shirt collars, and Ret found it difficult to discern an expression.

  A hum rose from the swarm, surrounding him as they traversed, and Ret’s gaze whipped side-to-side. A youngish looking man to his right appeared to be addressing him with an almost imperceptible jaw movement. Ret had to lean in close to catch what he said.

  “Yeah, I’d opt for a lifetime of cyber-sleep if I had to wait that long for a Forfeiture Status.”

  Who was he talking to? Cyber-sleep? Wolf hadn’t mentioned that. Was it a way of ending his life early? And so flippantly? Ret leaned in. “Don’t do it,” he shouted.

  The man shrugged Ret’s hand away, skirted sideways, and disappeared—swallowed by a new tide.

  Around him, the combined voices of the moving mass buzzed like the sound of worker bees, droning in hushed conversations on hidden communication devices.

  The rush of bodies bumped and careened into one another, and the itchy presence of Graphies came and went at regular intervals. The squeeze of humanity left Ret feeling more closed-in than he had in the venting. I’m drowning in a sea of bodies.

  Panic pricked from his toes up his legs. He stood his full height, searching over the crowd, desperate for an out.

  Sweat saturated his synthetic collar, and a thought nipped at his core.

  Get back in the vent!

  Get out!

  Out of this twisted place.

  His thoughts alarmed him as much as the pressing crowd. How could anyone survive this lifestyle? Did this voice of desperation live in the minds of the others who lived here? Then again, if they have nothing to compare it to …