Chapter 18
The summer sun shone down on them through the trees. Wendy avoided the fallen leaves as she, Pelton, Clayton, Nara and two others hiked through the woods.
“How are you doing?” Pelton asked. He had positioned himself behind Wendy.
“Feels good to be outside again,” Wendy said. Little things kept reinforcing the statement—the sound of the wind through the trees, birdsong in the morning, and the way the sun filtered through the branches and played with the shadows on the ground. Mike’s complex was comfortable, and far safer than out here, but Wendy preferred this. To be free. To know she could run at any moment if she needed to.
Pelton snorted. “I’d love a shower and a clean bed.”
“Yeah, that part was nice,” Wendy said. “But try to imagine living under the same roof as the people who did this to the Den.”
“You lasted a lot longer than I would have,” Pelton said. “I would have started killing them right off.”
Wendy thought of Dennis. "I got around to it."
Pelton snorted again. “Another not joke?”
“Maybe.”
The words flowed so freely, Wendy almost smiled. It felt good to be with someone she knew so well. No, it felt good to be with someone who knew her so well. She didn’t have to explain anything about herself or wince when people assumed she was thirteen.
When the sun sank behind the mountains, they camped for the night. It was still dark when they started out again the next morning.
The trails began to be as familiar to Wendy as her own limbs. Wendy noted subtle changes that had taken place in the few short weeks since she'd left. Trees had lost limbs—a storm must have come through. There were more animal tracks than usual—she tried not to think about what that meant.
Without her knowing, her feet slowed, and gravity required they double their efforts while going uphill. They reached the path that lead to the main gate and followed it in.
Clayton turned them into the bushes as the tall spires of the wall came into view.
“Let's watch for a bit,” Pelton said.
Wendy crouched down next to him and waited.
Minutes passed. The only movement they saw was a bird flying overhead. Wendy’s tired but exhilarated muscles started to complain.
The clear area around the compound both lured and repelled Wendy. She almost didn't follow when Pelton stood and started them toward the front gate.
The sun shone on the scene as if nothing had happened, if you could ignore the huge wooden gate dangling from one set of hinges. Some of the buildings were intact, others had been reduced to charred ruins. Lumps adorned the gravel and the grass. Wendy knew what they were, but didn’t want to think about it.
But she had to go through here to get to the tunnels.
Wendy wanted to square her shoulders and walk in like it didn’t matter what had happened, but caution won out, and she skulked behind the others to the wall and through the front opening, darting behind the nearest buildings and listening for any noises that didn’t belong.
More waiting. Nothing. Not even the buzz of flies. Wendy risked a glance at Pelton. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and his fingers encircled his gun as if he were about to strangle it.
The hair on the back of Wendy’s neck rose, and she re-checked the area around her.
Nothing. No one alive. Just the dead. She averted her eyes as they made their way across the compound.
Death didn’t usually bother Wendy—she had seen her first body at the age of two or three—but this did. Maybe she wanted to live in denial for just a few minutes longer. Seeing someone she knew—and she knew everyone—would be the final nail in the coffin.
A prickling sensation sent chills down her spine, but the only thing she found watching her was Pelton.
She dredged up a weak smile. If it looked half as forced as it felt her face probably resembled a skull.
The small band of people reached the mess hall. The place had been gutted. Once again, Wendy tried not to look too closely.
“Where to?” Pelton asked.
The map was in a secret compartment in the tunnels on the north end of the compound. Only three people knew where it was: Wendy, Kenzie and their dad. For some reason he'd never disclosed the location to anyone else. Wendy closed her eyes and plotted the fastest course.
“This way,” Wendy said. She led the group across the compound and into the medical building—one of the only structures that remained mostly intact. Broken glass lay outside the back door. Blood stained the gravel nearby. A door from a neighboring building had been ripped off and tossed aside like garbage. The scene felt eerily familiar—like she’d seen it before, exactly as it was now.
Wendy pushed the feeling away and went inside. The trap door on the floor lay open. Darkness greeted her from below.
“Here,” Pelton said, handing her a small flashlight.
Wendy squatted down. A musty smell rose to greet her. A memory stirred. Running. Fighting. Dying.
A shiver ran up her spine and chilled her bones. The black called to her, but her mind recoiled. Her muscles froze. The Skinnies. The sword. Everyone dead.
Sweat broke out on Wendy’s forehead and on her palms.
Pelton gently put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and shifted away from him. He didn’t pursue her, but said, “You don’t have to go down there. Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”
A faraway roar—like a distant waterfall—began in Wendy’s ears. Darkness gathered at the edges of her vision, just like it had in the vent.
Wendy shook her head. This wasn’t the vent. This had been her home. She knew what was down there. She could face it. She had to.
She swung around and put her foot into the darkness. It hit the first rung of the ladder. She turned and her other foot found the second rung. Muscle memory took over, and she climbed down into Hell.
Wendy had expected the smell, and she wasn’t disappointed. She pulled her shirt up over her nose and swept the flashlight back and forth as the others came down after her. The supply closet next to the ladder had been raided. A broken club sat on the floor along with a small knife. Habit took over, and she reached down and plucked the knife off of the ground.
The rock and dirt floors and walls felt more fragile than they ever had before. A metal conduit ran along the ceiling, leading to light fixtures every twenty feet. The generator must have failed, because the only illumination besides Wendy's flashlight came from the door above.
Pelton wrapped a rag around his face and said, “Which way.” The tone of his voice told Wendy he didn’t want to stay down here any longer than they had to.
“Here.” She started down the tunnel on her left. For the first two turns they encountered nothing amiss. If it hadn’t been for the smell, she wouldn’t have known hundreds of people had died down here.
Then they went around a corner, and the real horror began.
Her eyes slid over the bodies. Specifics didn’t register, but numbers did. Five Skinnies, three of her people.
They came to a T intersection. The map was to the left, but she felt drawn to the right. Toward the barricade, where she knew her dad would be. Against an invisible hand, she turned away and kept going.
Skinnies and her people littered the tunnels. Wendy felt a grim satisfaction that the dead Skinnies always outnumbered her people.
Pelton’s flashlight hit something that sent a reflection straight back into her eyes. Wendy winced, and had a flash of the sword cutting into her arm. She unconsciously rubbed the scar.
“How much farther?” Pelton asked. No one had grumbled yet, but Wendy could feel it coming.
“Just through here,” Wendy said. She led them farther into the dark. Three tunnels came together, and she took the one that led north. It was a dead end.
She stopped and started sweeping the ceiling with her light.
“What are you looking for?” Pelton asked.
Wendy didn’t answer until she found it. “That
.”
Pelton craned his neck to look. “Is that an arrow?”
“Yup,” Wendy said. The small arrow carved in the stone pointed at the wall. With her light, she followed it down. The pock marks in the stone wall looked completely natural. Wendy moved toward it and stuck her fingers in three indentations. She also kicked a spot near the floor with her foot.
A clunk sounded, and then a hiss as the compartment behind her popped open.
The group turned. A section of the wall—from what looked like completely natural cracks—had pulled away from the rest of the stone by almost an inch.
Pelton moved through the others and reached for the little outcrop.
“Wait,” Wendy said.
Pelton froze. Wendy slid past him and probed the bottom of the door. Her fingers found a small button, which she pressed, and then pulled.
The section, about the size of her head, swung toward her.
“If you don't push the button then it collapses.”
Pelton leaned forward over Wendy's shoulder.
A wood box the size of Pelton's hand and measuring about three inches tall sat at the bottom of the small compartment. “Is that it?” Pelton asked. He looked at Wendy. “Are there any traps on the box?”
“Not that I know of.”
Pelton reached past her, and trembling visibly, grasped the wooden box and pulled it out.
He eyed the box with suspicion. “Let's take it outside, just in case.”
“Good idea,” one of his men said.
“This way.” Wendy led them farther into the graveyard the tunnels had become. Wendy forced her eyes to slide past the faces of those who were entombed here, afraid she might see Kenzie or Hector.
The route took them past areas where some heavy fighting had taken place. Wendy turned, thinking she would go past the big room where they usually kept supplies, when the world around her stopped. Whispers drew her attention to the room. She moved toward it.
The main door stood open. Wendy gingerly stepped through and shone the light around. A lot of fighting had happened here. She could hear it. Wendy closed her eyes. She breathed the air and willed her mind to release the lock it had put on the day.
Nothing happened.
“Wendy?” Pelton's voice sounded a mile away.
Wendy let her mind go. A picture formed there. She opened her eyes and followed the light to the tiny door near the back of the room. This is where the kids were supposed to sneak out if something went wrong. The door was bolted shut.
“Wendy, what is it?” Pelton asked.
Wendy didn't want to interrupt her train of thought, so she picked her way through the room to the other side. There were no bodies of children in here. A small door, almost hidden in the corner, led into the tunnels. Wendy had been here. She'd sent the kids out the door.
Pelton and his crew followed her. None of them spoke.
Where would she have taken the kids?
The far chamber. Closest to the evacuation tunnel that led to the docks.
Excitement pumped blood through her veins. She jogged toward her destination.
A flash—a memory—superimposed itself over what her eyes were seeing.
The kids were ahead of her. Screams erupted from behind. Wendy glanced over her shoulder and instead of Pelton, she saw three Skinnies fighting with two men from the Den. She blinked and the image was gone.
She had come this way.
Determination pushed her legs harder. More flashes came—just momentary glimpses of what had been.
Wendy reveled in them. She saw herself turn, and did the same. They’d nearly gotten to the far chamber before a Skinny loomed up before her.
A cry escaped her lips, and she lashed out at the figure who wasn’t there. But when she turned her head, she found what was left of the Skinny on the floor.
She looked up. The phantom kids were still running. She followed.
Another Skinny came from her left. How had the Skinnies gotten into this section of the tunnels? There were only two ways to get here, and guards from both areas should have been on alert from the alarm.
Had someone let them in?
There was one other way out, and only a handful of people knew about it. Wendy shouted for the kids to take the next turn. If Wendy could get them out, then maybe Kenzie would find them.
If not, Wendy was sending these kids to their deaths. It just wouldn't happen in the tunnels.
The kids in the front screamed as one of the older boys took the Skinny down with an axe. A sense of pride filled her. Wendy had taught him that move.
The scene became disjointed for a few minutes. Wendy kept moving down the tunnels, and at each turn she could see what had happened there.
She saw herself shove the kids in the door that led to the exit, then she bolted it shut and turned to fight the band of Skinnies who had been following them.
The woman with the club hit her in the ribs. Pelton appeared. It was strange to see him both in her memories in real life.
The sword flashed. Wendy was injured. Pelton had fought his way to her, and together they had moved back toward the center of the compound.
Wendy found herself following the path, past the bodies of downed Skinnies who lay like felled trees.
The tunnel ended. Wendy had told him so. Why had Pelton brought her here? He had said he was trying to give them some breathing room.
She turned a corner, and her flashlight hit it.
The wooden crate.
All of the sounds in her head instantly stopped. She stayed perfectly still. Only her breathing filled the alcove before her.
Pelton's body should be here. He'd shoved her into that crate so she wouldn't die.
But he was standing behind her.
“Wendy?” Pelton asked. He moved next to her. Tension rolled off of him in waves as his feet shuffled ever so slightly. “What is it?”
Wendy's mind went back. Pelton had shoved her into the crate. She'd expected to hear more fighting, but instead she had heard Pelton's voice.
“Keep her here. We might need her later.”
Pelton put a hand on her shoulder. “Did you remember something?”
Anger, fear and confusion shook Wendy's entire body. Tears welled up, and for once she let them come.
“No,” she said. She turned to look up at Pelton. His eyes should have held concern, but instead they were steely. “I—” Her voice broke. She thought fast. “Just flashes. Lots of fighting. I thought that my dad would be here. I don't know why. I'm sorry.”
Pelton relaxed. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he reached out and pulled her in for a hug. “It's okay.”
Wendy had to melt into him, even though she wanted to kill him.
He'd betrayed them. He'd brought the Skinnies.
And she'd just given him the map. The thing he'd been after all along.