Текст книги "The Kill Order"
Автор книги: James Dashner
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
As if the thought must be made real, a body bumps into Mark’s knee, then whips past in the river-a woman. Her face is the blue of death, framed by a floating mat of hair. She spins slowly as she rushes deeper into the black tunnel beyond. Then there are more. Some alive, most unmoving-probably dead, Mark realizes. The living are flailing their arms and legs, trying to swim or gain purchase on the ground. Mark has the fleeting thought that they should try to help them, reach for their hands. But it’s too late-they’ll be lucky to get themselves out.
Alec has reached the stairs, has grabbed the iron railing, takes two steps up. Mark moves another sluggish step forward; the water is up to his waist now. Burning, roasting. Alec leans down and helps Lana up the stairs. Then Trina makes it, grabs his hand. Up she goes. Mark is next. He takes the last tremulous step and he’s suddenly clasping forearms with the old man who keeps saving his life. His body jolts forward as Alec pulls him hard and he’s on the stairs, almost falling forward onto his face. Trina catches him, hugs him.
The Toad makes it, then Darnell, then Misty. All of them but Alec up the short flight of stairs and onto the landing, grouping together in front of the door. The younger boy, Baxter, is struggling. Mark’s suddenly struck by shame as he realizes the kid’s still out there-he’s six feet beyond Alec’s reach, the water slamming into his side, rising and rising, splashing up into his frightened face.
Mark runs back down the stairs even as Trina is calling his name. He stands next to Alec, wonders what to do. Bodies are shooting past Baxter; Mark sees a stray foot smack the kid in the shoulder. A head bobs up out of the river right next to him, spewing water, then disappears back under.
“Take a step!” Alec screams at Baxter.
The boy responds, does as he’s told. Then takes another. He’s almost within reach now, but the water is beating at his back, making it seem impossible that he hasn’t been swept away yet.
Mark yells encouragement this time. “Just a couple more.”
Baxter moves forward and is suddenly off his feet, facedown. Alec jumps out at him, grabs the boy’s arm just as the current latches on to both of them, ready to yank them away into the darkness. Marks sees it all happen so fast, reacts before he has time to think. He grips the iron railing with his left hand and lunges forward with his right, grasping the sleeve of Alec’s shirt before he’s swept out of reach. The man’s hand comes up and grips Mark’s arm just as the material starts to rip.
Mark’s body is jerked into the current but he holds on to the railing; his body is pulled out and then to the side, slamming into the concrete wall next to the track. Alec and Baxter follow, their bodies linked. Mark feels as if his arm is about to be ripped from its socket, his muscles straining, screaming. He can only focus on not letting go to ignore the pain. Water rushes into his mouth and he spits it out. It tastes like dirt and oil and burns his tongue.
He feels hands grabbing his arm, gripping his shirt and elbow, pulling. From the other side he can tell that Alec is climbing him like a rope, using both hands. Which means Baxter must be gone. Mark can do nothing, his strength spent, every part of his body aching and burning. He can only hold tight, keep the link intact. His head slips under the water and he closes his eyes, forces himself to resist the urge to suck in a breath that would kill him.
He loses all sense of movement. There is only water and heat and the rush of sound. And the pain, bursting through his body.
Then he breaks the surface, feels hands on his chest, under his arm. He’s being dragged backward up the stairs. Alec is right in front of him, having caught hold of the railing. Baxter is clasped tightly between the man’s legs, like the winning grip of a wrestling match. Even as Mark looks, Baxter’s face comes up and out of the river and the boy is breathing, spitting, screaming.
They made it. They all made it.
Soon they are on their feet, on the landing. All of them. The water has risen to the upper edge of the track’s groove and is beginning to spill onto the landing itself.
Alec is a man whose every inch speaks of exhaustion. Soaking wet, breathing deeply and raggedly. He lurches forward to the door, opens it. Mark has the thought that it could’ve been locked. Their story could’ve been over and done right then and there. But it’s open, and Alec swings it wide.
He motions for everyone to go through.
“Get ready to climb,” the old man says.
CHAPTER 36
Mark woke up shivering in complete darkness.
His body was stiff; he shifted on the cot and it creaked as he tried to get comfortable, find a position in which his muscles didn’t ache. He heard Alec and Anton both snoring loudly. Alec obviously hadn’t lasted long at first watch.
Mark finally settled on his back. Sleep had officially washed away, and there was nothing to do but wait until his friend woke up. He’d let the man get as much rest as possible-they were probably going to need it.
The dream had seemed so vivid, so lifelike. His heart was still beating from the rush of the experience, like he’d just relived it for real. He could taste the foul water, feel the burns on his skin. He remembered the exhausting climb up the endless flight of stairs afterward, the winding, the dizzying back-and-forth. Sapped of strength and hurting from the water burn, he didn’t know how he’d kept up with the others. But up and up they’d gone as the water rose below them. He’d never forget the feeling of looking over the railing, down at the roiling, dirty liquid as it slowly ascended, thinking that his life had almost ended in its depths.
Alec had saved them that day. They’d spent the next two weeks in that skyscraper, realizing quickly that they couldn’t search for loved ones yet. The heat and radiation and rising waters were too much. That was when Mark’s hopes of ever finding his family had truly begun to fade.
The Lincoln Building. A place that held plenty of its own nightmares. They’d stayed as close to the center of the building as possible, in the structure’s middle corridors, to protect themselves from the sun’s ruthless radiation. Even so, they’d all been a little sick those first few months.
He heard a groan from the direction of Alec’s cot, and the thoughts floated away, pushed to the back of his mind to torment him later. But that feeling of terror he’d experienced in those last moments in the subtrans tunnel wouldn’t leave, lingering like the smoke from an extinguished fire.
“Oh… crap,” Alec said.
Mark popped up onto his elbow, looking in the direction of his friend. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Fine soldier I am. And I left the damn workpad on. We can forget using that thing again.”
“Meh, the battery was probably almost dead anyway,” Mark said. Though in truth, he’d have given anything for five more minutes of the device’s glow right then.
Alec groaned and Mark heard the sounds of the cot creaking as the older man got to his feet.
“We need to go find this guy’s coworkers. He said they were meeting farther down in the bunker. So we need to find our way to some stairs,” the man said.
“What do we do about him?” Mark pointed to Anton, forgetting for a second that Alec couldn’t see him in the darkness.
“Let him sleep out his sorrows. Come on.”
Mark took a moment to get his bearings, then got up and felt his way to the end of the cot toward the middle aisle of the room.
“How long do you think we slept?” he asked.
“No idea,” Alec answered. “Maybe two hours?”
They spent the next few minutes slowly making their way through the room and out into the hallway. The light above the door still sputtered a bit, but barely enough to see by. They eventually found the stairwell Alec had been hoping for. Even the dim sight of it, mostly lines and edges of shadow descending into blackness, brought back to Mark the memory of the flood and their mad clamber up the stairs of the skyscraper. It’d been so close that day. If he’d known all that would come after, would he still have fought so hard to survive?
Yes, he told himself. Yes, he would’ve. And he was going to find Trina and get out of hot water again. He almost laughed at his own joke.
“Let’s get on with it,” Alec whispered as he started down the steps.
Mark followed him, determined to stop dwelling on the past. He had to focus on the future or he’d never reach it.
The flight of stairs only descended three levels, though there was no exit until they reached the final one. They pushed through the door and found themselves in another hallway. They’d finally come upon the section of the bunker that used the raving generators above: a line of lights along the ceiling illuminated the passage. Unlike the hallway they’d come from, this one curved.
Mark shot a glance at Alec and they started down the hall. There were doors lining the walls, but Alec suggested that they explore the length of the corridor before they tried each one. They slipped along, as quietly as possible, and it wasn’t long before it became clear that the hallway was a giant crescent.
They’d traversed about half of what they could see of its length when Mark heard voices, then saw their source. Up ahead, on the left, there was a set of double doors, one propped all the way open. The sounds were coming from whatever was happening in that room. A gathering of some sort, men and women talking over each other so that Mark couldn’t make out a single word being said. Anton’s meeting, his coworkers.
Alec slowed as he approached the room, and carefully stepped forward until he was right next to it, his back pressed against the closed door. He turned to look at Mark, shrugged as if to say it’s now or never, then craned his neck toward the opening and leaned in for a peek. Mark held his breath, remembering all too well that they had no weapons.
Alec pulled his head back and sidled a couple feet toward Mark. “It’s an auditorium. It’s pretty big, seats about two hundred, maybe. They’re all down at the bottom watching some guy on the stage.”
“How many are there?” Mark whispered.
“At least forty. Maybe fifty. No sign of our friends, as far as I can tell. They all seem to be arguing about something, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
“So what do we do?” Mark asked. “Keep going? This hall can’t go on much longer.”
“If we get down on our hands and knees we can crawl in there and down the back. We can hide in a corner over on the right. I think we need to hear what these people are saying.”
Mark agreed. They didn’t know who these people were or what they were up to, but it seemed like the only way to find out. The safest way, at least. “Okay, let’s do it.”
They crouched on all fours and got ready, Mark right behind Alec. The soldier leaned forward to take a look around the edge of the door; then he started crawling into the large room. Mark followed, feeling almost naked as they entered the open air of the auditorium. But no one was close to the back-the voices were all coming from below and sounded far enough away. And judging from the fact that they all seemed to be talking at once, Mark had a feeling they weren’t on the alert for intruders.
Alec crawled along the last row, his side pressed against the black plastic of the chairs, until he got all the way to the far right side of the room, where the corner was shadowed in darkness. He stopped and situated himself, his legs crossed, his body wedged into the space between the last chair and the wall. Mark moved to sit next to him. He had to tuck himself in closer than was comfortable in order to stay as hidden as possible.
Alec stretched up and peeked over the chair in front of them, then sank down again quickly.
“Can’t see much. Seems like they’re waiting for something to begin. Or maybe they’re taking a break. I don’t know.”
Mark closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. They sat there for what seemed like forever. At least ten excruciating minutes passed with nothing changing. Just the buzz of mixed conversation. Then, suddenly, a blur of movement made him catch his breath. A man had walked into the auditorium from the hallway, a quick flash of motion as he entered and began walking down the aisle toward the front. Mark breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been seen.
The crowd grew quiet and still, the room dropping into an almost eerie silence. Mark could actually hear the man’s footsteps as he reached the bottom of the room and climbed a set of stairs onto the stage.
“I’ll take over from here, Stanley,” a deep voice said, echoing off the ceiling even though he’d said it softly. Acoustics.
“Thanks, Bruce,” came the reply from Stanley, a man with a much higher voice. “Everyone give him your full attention.”
There was the sound of someone descending the stairs and then the rattle of him sitting in one of the chairs. When silence fell once again, the newcomer began to speak.
“Let’s get this started, people. It won’t be long before we all lose our minds.”
CHAPTER 37
As if the man’s opening statement wasn’t bizarre enough, the crowd clapped and cheered after he said it, making Mark shiver. Bruce waited for it to die down on its own before he spoke again. Mark was anxious to hear what the guy would say next.
“Frank and Marla are back from a flyby of the areas around Asheville. Just as we thought, they’ve shored up those walls nice and tight. Humanity and charity, my friends? Those days are long gone. The PFC has created an army of monsters, people who used to be willing to give the shirt off their backs for a neighbor in need. No longer. Those scumbags in Alaska and North Carolina-our very own Asheville-have turned their backs on the settlements once and for all. Worse, they’ve turned their backs on us. Us! ”
This elicited a chorus of angry shouts, stomping of feet and banging on the armrests of the chairs. The noises echoed through the room until Bruce started talking again.
“They sent us here!” he shouted. His voice was louder now. “They assigned us to take part in the worst civil rights fiasco since the War of 2020. A holocaust! But they were firm that it was for the survival of the human race. They said it was to save what little resources we have, to be able to feed those people they deemed worthy to live. But who are they to decide who’s worthy?” He paused for a moment before he continued. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems that we are not worthy. They sent us here to do their dirty work and now they’ve decided to cut us off. Who are they, I ask all of you!”
He practically screamed the last sentence and once again sent the crowd into a fit of near hysterics. People screamed and stomped their feet. The roar made Mark’s temples throb and the inside of his forehead ache. He thought it might never end, but it did, abruptly. He imagined that Bruce had made a gesture to silence them.
“Here’s where we stand,” the man said, much calmer. “The test subjects are getting more fanatical in their odd little religious cult by the day. We’ve made a deal with them. They wanted the little girl back. Seems that they want to sacrifice her to their newfound spirits. I think they’ve passed the point of no return. They’re beyond any help we could give them. They can barely go a day without fighting each other, reorganizing factions, starting over until they battle again. But we made a deal with the few who still seem to be operating on some sane level-I’m sick and tired of worrying who’s going to jump out of a tree and attack me every time I walk outside.”
He paused, allowed a long, lingering moment of silence. “We gave them the little girl and the two women we found with her. I know it’s harsh, but it buys us a little time where we don’t have to worry about those people. I don’t want to waste the precious ammo we have left defending ourselves against a cult.”
Mark suddenly had a rushing sound in his ears. The little girl. The two women. Gave them. The things Anton had said back in the bunk room. It all thudded in his mind, made him tremble. He thought back to how crazy those people at the bonfire were, and a situation he’d thought couldn’t get worse did just that. They’d wasted all this time in the bunker and their friends weren’t even there anymore.
Bruce was still talking, but Mark couldn’t focus on the words. He leaned in to speak in Alec’s ear. “How could they have given them to those… people? We have to go. Who knows what those psychos will do to them!”
Alec held a hand out to urge calm. “I know. We will. But remember the reason we came here. Let’s hear what this man has to say, then we’ll go. I promise. Lana means as much to me as Trina does to you.”
Mark nodded, leaned back into the wall again. Tried to listen to what Bruce was saying down on the stage.
“-fire is out, thanks to the latest storm that rolled in a couple of hours ago. The sky’s black, but the flames are dead. We’re going to be dealing with mudslides all over the place. The test subjects all fled to the half-burnt mountain homes, by the looks of it. Hopefully they’ll stay put awhile before they get desperate and march on Asheville for food. But I think we’re safe to head over to the city in the next day or two. Force our way in, demand our rights. We’ll go by foot and hope to surprise them.”
There were a few worried murmurs before he continued. “Look, we can’t deny that we’re dealing with our own outbreak now. We’ve all seen the symptoms, right here in our safe house. There’s just no way our superiors would’ve agreed to unleash this virus without having something to reverse its effects. And I say that they’ll give it to us or they’ll all die. Even if we have to go all the way to Alaska to do it. We know they have a Flat Trans at their headquarters. We’ll go through it and make them give us what we deserve!”
More cheers and pounding feet thundered through the air.
Mark shook his head. These people were obviously unstable. There was a wild energy in the room, like they were a nest of vipers, tensing to strike. Whatever the reason for spreading this virus, it was clear what it did to people: it made them crazy, and it appeared to be taking more time to do it as it spread. And if Asheville, the largest surviving city within hundreds of miles, really had erected walls to keep itself safe from the disease, things must be bad. Then the last thing anyone needed was a bunch of infected soldiers running through the streets. And the Flat Trans…
Mark’s head still pounded and throbbed and it was hard to sort out his thoughts. He knew he had to focus on Trina, getting her back. But what about all this new information? He elbowed Alec, gave him a look that said his patience was running out.
“Soon, boy,” the man whispered. “Never skip a chance to get intel. Then we’ll go find our friends. I swear it.”
Mark wasn’t willing to sacrifice Trina for information. Not after what they’d been through to survive this long. He couldn’t wait much longer.
The room had grown quiet again.
“The Post-… Flares… Coalition.” Bruce pronounced every word with exaggerated diction and spite. “Who do these people think they are? Gods? They can just choose to wipe out the entire eastern half of the United States? Like the PFC has more right to live than anyone else?”
There was another long pause after that. Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He crawled around Alec and slowly peeked over the chair to take a look. Bruce was a large man with a bald head that shone in the dull light, his face pale and scruffy with a few days’ worth of beard. The muscles of his arms and shoulders bulged against a tight black shirt as he stood with hands clasped in front of him, staring at the floor. If Mark hadn’t heard all the things the man had just said, he’d think he could be praying.
“Don’t feel bad, friends. We couldn’t have said no to what they asked us to do,” Bruce said, slowly raising his eyes to gaze at his captive audience again. “We had no choice. They used the very resources they’re trying to preserve against us. We have to eat, too, right? It’s not our fault the virus wasn’t quite what they expected. All we can do is what we’ve done since the sun flares struck the Earth: fight tooth and nail to live. Darwin taught about survival of the fittest in the natural world. Well, the PFC is trying to cheat nature. It’s time to stand up for ourselves. We… will… live!”
Another raucous round of cheers and whistles and clapping and foot pounding went on for a good minute or two. Mark slinked back to sit next to Alec, feeling stronger than ever that they had to get moving. He was just about to say something when the crowd fell silent and Bruce’s voice filled the room like the amplified hiss of a snake.
“But first, my friends, I need you to do something for me. We have two spies in the back of this auditorium. They could very well be from the PFC. I want them bound and gagged by the time I count to thirty.”
CHAPTER 38
Mark was jumping to his feet almost before the man had finished his sentence, and Alec was close behind him.
A vicious roar erupted from the crowd like a war cry as Mark paused to take them all in. The group was already on the move, springing from their chairs and stumbling over each other to be the first ones to get up the aisle to the two intruders.
Mark ran toward the double doors of the exit, unable to take his eyes off the scene below, observing it with a strange mix of horror and curiosity. Bruce was bellowing orders and pointing his finger at Mark and Alec, his pale face now red with anger. There was something childish about his movements, almost cartoonish. The urgency with which his followers were clamoring to get into the open aisle also seemed exaggerated somehow, like they were all hopped up on some kind of drug. Men and women yelling and growling like apes on a rampage. Each wanting to capture him, acting like their life depended on being the first to do it.
Alec reached the doors first and practically flung himself out into the hallway. Mark skidded to a stop, his focus so intent on the onrushing crowd that he almost ran past the exit. That odd and misplaced sense of curiosity at their behavior winked out finally, replaced by the horrific thump of realization that he was about to be captured for the second time in so many days. Their cries of pursuit tore through the air and scared him, and with a quick sideways glance as he exited the room he saw the first of their group charging up the main aisle of the auditorium with bloodlust in their eyes.
He slipped on the floor of the hallway, caught his balance. Alec had reached out and closed the door after Mark came through, maybe buying them a couple of seconds. The light was dim, but Mark could tell Alec had forgotten which way they’d come from.
“It’s this way!” Mark yelled, already running. He heard Alec’s footsteps behind him until there was the loud bang of the door slamming back open, followed by the rush of bodies and their continued battle cries.
Mark ran hard, trying his best not to imagine their pursuers or what they’d do if they caught him. Bruce had said to bind and gag them, but the look Mark had seen on their faces told him that was only the beginning. He glanced back to make sure Alec was keeping up, saw the old bear pumping his arms and pounding his feet, then focused ahead again, sprinting along the slow curve of the hallway. He was heading for the stairs because he didn’t know where else to go but up.
Adrenaline shot through Mark and hunger gnawed at his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He could only hope he had enough energy to escape back into the woods above them. The stairwell came into view up ahead and he burst forward with a little more speed. The shouts from their pursuers echoed and tore through the narrow space of the hall, reminding Mark of that almost muffled screeching sound the approaching trains of the subtrans made as they sped along the tracks of their tunnels.
Mark reached the stairs, was already leaping onto the second one by the time Alec made it. He heard the man’s heavy breathing mixed with his own, the solid thumps of their feet pounding the steps. Mark grabbed the railing at each switchback, throwing himself forward and onto the next set. He and Alec charged up the three levels, reaching the top just as Mark heard their pursuers reach the bottom. The hollow echo of their frantic cries sent chills across his sweaty skin.
He ran out into the upper hallway, which was still cloaked in darkness, something he could only hope would help them. A sudden moment of indecision hit him, causing a burst of panic.
“Which way?” he yelled at Alec. A part of him thought they should hide somewhere-maybe in the room that held the generators. Searching for an exit meant they’d be out in the open and just waiting for capture if they didn’t find one, but hiding would only delay being found.
Instead of answering, Alec started running to the right, back in the direction of the huge, pivoting landing pad of the Berg. Mark followed him, relieved that his friend had taken charge again.
They ran through the darkness at a reckless speed. Mark ran his hand against the wall to keep his bearings, but he knew that if he came across something on the floor he was a goner. They passed the generator room, its struggling red bulb of faint light giving them a brief break from the pitch-black, the hum of machinery like the drone of bees. Both the glow and the noise faded as they sprinted past. It was at that moment that Mark noticed something that almost made him stop.
The sounds of the people chasing them had ceased. Completely. As if they’d never made it up the stairs.
“Alec,” he whispered, barely hearing his own voice over their heaving breathing and footsteps. He repeated it a little louder.
His friend came to a halt, and Mark passed him before he could stop too. Sucking in deep breaths, Mark turned back to face Alec, wishing desperately for a little light.
“Why’d it stop?” he wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Alec responded. “But we should keep moving.” Mark heard the man feeling his way along the walls of the corridor. “You do the right side, I’ll stick to the left. Maybe there’s another exit we don’t know about.”
Mark started searching; the walls were cool to the touch. He remembered the door with the faint rectangle of light from before-but there was no sign of it now. It was maddening to be in such darkness, and not knowing what had happened to the people chasing them put him on edge. It didn’t sit right with him.
They reached the end of the hallway, where the round submarine-like door led back into the chamber below the Berg landing pad. He heard Alec step through the opening, then come back out.
“Can’t see a thing in there, either.”
“There’s nowhere else to go,” Mark replied. “Let’s just get in there and shut that door until we figure something out. Maybe we can keep it-”
Alec shushed him, cutting off his sentence. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.
The question alone made Mark shiver. He grew completely still and held his breath. At first he heard nothing; then there was a rustling sound, faint, but coming from down the hallway. It continued, and oddly, the noise played tricks, seeming to be close one second and far the next. Suddenly Mark was struck by the feeling that they weren’t alone.
Terror lit up his nerves. He moved to grab Alec, to push him through the doorway, knowing it was their only shot. Getting in there and slamming the thing closed, spinning the wheel handle, keeping it shut. But Mark had only taken one step forward when there was a click, followed by the blinding beam of a flashlight pointed directly at Mark and Alec. Whoever held it was only a few steps away.
“We didn’t say you could leave yet,” a woman said.
CHAPTER 39
There was a sudden rush of movement, the sound of other flashlights being clicked on, their beams crisscrossing and bobbing in a chaotic dance through the air. Bruce’s people were charging forward, reigniting their shouts and cries of attack. Mark turned toward Alec, who was already reaching out, grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward the open portal.
Alec was halfway through, his fist still clutching Mark’s shirt, when the storm of lights reached them. Their beams were blinding. Someone grabbed Mark’s foot and heaved it up into the air, and he crashed to the floor, the back of his head smacking down hard. Mark was suddenly jerked along the floor by his leg. He slid, bumping against people as he thrashed, trying to kick himself loose.
Alec shouted his name but Mark could barely hear him over the mass of angry people. They surrounded Mark and someone kicked him in the ribs; a woman let out a shrill cry and punched him in the stomach. He groaned and tried to curl into a ball, twisting his foot so hard that it sprang free from his captor’s grip. Taking advantage of the moment, he flipped onto his stomach and started crawling back toward the door. He was a flurry of arms and legs, frantically trying to stay out of everyone’s reach.
A roar cut through the melee: a booming growl, a noise that might come out of a she-bear protecting a cub. It was Alec-and suddenly bodies were flying everywhere. The man had charged forward and leaped into the fray, taking down half the people trying to get to Mark. In the frenzy, someone fell on Mark’s leg, someone else on his back. He twisted around and then there was someone sitting on his face. There was a moment when everything seemed absolutely ridiculous, like Mark had fallen into a clown act in a circus, and he almost laughed.
Then someone slapped him on the cheek, clearing that image right out of his head. Mark screwed up his fist and punched back but missed, tried again and again without connecting, his arms flailing like a blind boxer’s. On the fourth or fifth try he smashed his fist into someone’s chin and they cried out. He caught a glimpse of Alec fighting like a lion, pushing people and elbowing faces and throwing bodies to the floor. There was the clank of a flashlight falling, then the tinny scrape of it rolling until it came to rest against the wall. Its light shone across the floor and illuminated the circle of the door to the chamber, maybe a dozen feet away. Mark knew they had to somehow fight their attackers off and get through there or they were done for.
