Читать книгу Idols - Margaret Stohl, Margaret Stohl - Страница 21

“Well, that could have been worse.”

That’s all Ro has to say, while I stand cold and dripping, looking at the smoking, smoldering, smashed remains of the flipped Chevro—as it floats slowly down the river.

“Worse? How?” Tima asks tiredly, holding Brutus in her arms.

“Seriously. Why are we not dead?” I look at the others. We’re plenty banged and bloodied up ourselves, but as bad as things already were, we don’t seem much worse off.

Tima has fared best. I make a mental note to belt myself in next time.

“Two weeks, two crashes,” Lucas says. “We’re on a roll. Keep it up.” He claps Ro on the back. “Soon you’ll be driving a Chevro about as well as Fortis flies a Chopper.”

“Shut it, Buttons,” Ro growls.

“So much for lucky severed animal feet.” Tima rolls her eyes.

“Come on. At least I got us here, didn’t I?” Ro is annoyed.

“I don’t know. Sort of depends on where here is,” I say, looking around. I’m still rattled by the dream, the little girl hidden in my mind. I try to sort my way back to reality. The shock of the cold air helps.

“That should be … Cottonwood Canyon?” Tima isn’t looking at the wreck, she’s scanning up the hill and down the river, comparing what she sees to the metal square in her hands. Trying to get her bearings. “I think. Unless this thing is upside down.”

I follow her gaze, looking over her shoulder. “Cottonwood. That’s what it says. Here.” I point.

Tima looks back down to the river, where the metallic debris floats away. “If the current keeps pulling the wreckage downstream, maybe we can follow the river in the other direction without being detected.”

“Like a decoy,” I say. “With the car gone, and the relay off, maybe they won’t find us.”

“For a while,” Lucas says.

He sounds as weary as I feel, because we all know he’s right. They’ll find us. It’s just a question of when.

“See? Maybe I was supposed to roll the car into the river. Maybe that animal foot really was lucky.” Ro yanks the rabbit’s foot out of his pocket. I can’t believe he managed to rescue that disgusting thing when we crashed.

“Put that away,” I say, shaking my head.

Tima folds the map back up. “According to the coordinates on this thing, the tunnels aren’t far, but we have to get going. Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”

“Tunnels?” I’m confused.

She shrugs. “I guess. How else do you find your way under a mountain?”

We leave behind the riverbed—picking our way up the canyon—until a raised road atop a steep embankment cuts across our path. It’s another old highway, I think. Ro climbs up the embankment and the rest of us follow without so much as a word exchanged between us. It’s not that he’s our leader, he’s just not a follower. Literally, he’s never been one to walk behind people. It’s just not in him.

Still, he’s leading us now, like it or not.

We follow him in silence. Speaking takes energy, and right now we need to conserve all the heat and all the energy we have. The air is growing colder by the minute. Colder, and thinner. My lungs and legs are burning with effort, but I refuse to be the first to say anything.

“Dol,” Ro calls out, stopping short. He holds out his sleeve, where flecks of white now scatter across the length of his arm.

I stare up into the darkness, where the white sparks descend in a sudden swarm. “What are those, fireflies?” I hold out my hand.

“Snowflies, you could say.” Lucas looks at me with a laugh, and I can’t help but smile back. “It’s snowing, Dol.”

“I knew that,” I say, my mouth twisting. We’ve all seen snow on the ground before—drifts of it, in the distant red hills of the desert—but we’ve never seen it actually snow.

Which, as it turns out, is something completely different. Even Tima smiles, holding her face up to the sky, letting the flurries of white powder fall on her like feathers. Shivering all the while.

Lucas wipes a snowflake from my eyelashes, and our eyes catch. I feel a flash of warmth, way deep inside, beneath all the cold wrapped around me.

Our laughter echoes down the canyon, as if we were regular friends, playing in the regular snow, with regular parents waiting for us to come back inside to our regular dinners.

As if.

But as we turn back to the road, our breath curls white into our eyes. Human, it says.

Alive.

“Look at this view,” Lucas calls, from the far side of the rising highway. As I move to join him, I realize we can see the distant valley unfolding beneath us in the moonlight—barren hills above the tree line, thick forest below. A snaking line of silver river threads itself along the valley floor.

“Or that view,” Ro says, pointing. He sounds grim, and then I see why.

What at first looks like a small constellation of stars begins to move overhead—until a ring of lights circles in on itself.

I freeze, and not because of the cold.

Choppers.

I knew they’d come for us, but I thought we had more time.

“They’re looking for something,” Tima says, studying the distant lights. She’s right. Searchlights sweep the river beneath the Choppers, exposing riverbanks and barren trees and then—

“Not just something,” Lucas says. “That.”

The Choppers are swarming something black, lodged in the silt of the river’s edge.

Black and immobile, too large to be a rock.

Something more like a Chevro.

I shiver. “That could have been us.”

Sympas.

They’ve found the Chevro.

They could have found us.

But they haven’t, I remind myself. The Choppers are

far enough away that I can barely hear them rattle, as if they were a child’s toy.

“Like I said.” Ro smirks. “It was a lucky severed foot after all.”

“Yeah, well, let’s get going,” says Lucas, watching the Choppers.

Tima nods. “Before our luck runs out.”

“There.” Through a wall of trees, I can see a mountain rising, tall and gray.

“That has to be it. This is where the map ends.” Tima looks around. “Now what?”

“It’s a game trail,” says Ro, sucking the snow off his shirt. Only animals appear to have beaten this pathway through the brush. But it’s not true, I think as we follow it into the thicket. Farther along the trail, the surrounding tangle of branches opens up to reveal three giant, curving openings, carved right into the solid granite of the mountain. Two of them appear to be largely sealed with fallen rock and rusting metal gates.

“My god.” Lucas shakes his head. “I’ve heard about these. I just didn’t think it was real. I thought they were stories.”

“What were?”

“The old Belter vaults.” Lucas shivers.

“Belters?” I’ve heard the word, but I don’t know what it means.

“Bible Belters,” Lucas says. “The people who lived here, before The Day. Here’s where they kept the records of every man, woman, and child ever born on this Earth. At least every one that was recorded, as far back as they could find. Built to last a thousand years, which I guess they figured was long enough to take them to the Second Coming.”

“Coming of what?” Ro says quietly, staring up at the sheer gray face of the mountain.

“Of the Gods, coming back to Earth.” I raise an eyebrow. My life on the Mission taught me that much. “I’ve heard of it.”

“But then we got the Lords instead,” Ro sighs. “Well, they weren’t off by much.” He walks up to the center opening.

“Where are you going?” Tima starts to panic.

“Inside.” Ro doesn’t even turn around.

“Out of the question. Wait—”

Ro sighs, stopping to lean against a giant fallen boulder. He shivers in spite of himself.

Tima takes a step toward him. “We need to make a plan.”

“No.” Ro shakes his head. “What we need is shelter.”

Tima looks up the mountain, to the craggy wall of granite. “This isn’t exactly a safe place to camp—you see those rocks up there, right? You understand the law of gravity, don’t you?” She’s calculating the odds of Ro’s accidental death, even now.

Ro nods. “And who knows what wild animals are living in these tunnels? Don’t forget about that. Let’s find out.”

“Not so fast.” Lucas blocks his path. “We said we’d stick together, and that’s what we’re going to do. We don’t go anywhere until we all agree.”

Ro raises an eyebrow. “Really, Buttons? You afraid of the dark too?”

“No. And I’m not afraid of you, either.” Lucas folds his arms.

“You should be.”

“Come on,” Tima says.

“Ro.” I look at him.

Ro grins at me, blowing on his fingers for warmth. Then he looks over at a nearby bush—and it bursts into flame.

“Stop that.” Tima sounds exasperated. “They’ll see us.”

“Just give me a minute,” Ro says. “To warm up.”

“Absolutely not.” Tima frowns. “We aren’t camping here.”

“You’re right. We aren’t camping,” Ro says, agreeably. “We’re waiting.” He holds his hands out toward the flickering fire.

“For what?” Tima looks confused.

“For whoever lives under that mountain to show up. Or for some wild animal to drag us all away. At this point, I’m not really sure I care which, so long as it’s not a Sympa.” Ro’s losing it, and I don’t blame him. We all are. It’s been a long day.

Tima isn’t amused. “Really? Because the Sympas will be all over us as soon as they see that fire. Put it out. Now.”

“Or then again, maybe not,” says Lucas. He points. “Seeing as the wait appears to be over. Someone’s here.”

Light after light appears in the night, and we see they are attached to a grim line of automatic weapons lining the mountainside in front of us. They waver like fireflies, only a thousand times bigger. They appear, one by one—giant glowing eyes, staring at us from all directions.

The third tunnel isn’t empty. Not anymore. And from the looks of the welcoming party, they’re not Sympas.

The Grass Militia of Belter Mountain is here.

We back up, away from them, until we stand face-to-face, a hundred yards apart. Not that we can see any faces in the approaching darkness.

“You Belters?” Ro shouts. “Is this Belter Mountain?”

Nothing.

“Maybe they don’t call themselves that anymore,” says Lucas. He raises his voice. “Are you Grass? We’re looking for the Idylls?”

Still nothing.

“Or here’s a thought—are you deaf?” Ro shouts, waving both arms above his head. “We come in peace, Grassholes.”

Nobody answers him. “Belters,” Ro mutters, shaking his head.

“What now?” I ask.

Tima looks stricken. “I have no idea.”

Ro tosses his hands into the air, giving up.

Lucas looks at me. “Welcome to the Idylls.”

Fifteen minutes later, nobody has moved. “They’re as scared of us as we are of them,” I say, staring at the line of lights in front of us. “I can feel it.”

“What else can you feel?” Lucas puts his hand on my arm.

“Not much. Confusion. Anger. Paranoia.” I close my eyes, trying to get a clearer picture. “Everything you’d expect from a radical Grass militia.”

“What about you?” Ro looks at Lucas.

“What about me?” Lucas asks, suspiciously.

“I’m thinking now would be a good time to do your thing, handsome.”

I open my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas is annoyed.

“You know. Your little love beam. The thing where you make people do things they don’t want to do. Because they looooove you. About time you turn it on someone besides Dol.” Ro smiles at me, and I respond with a withering look. Which is better than Lucas punching him in the face, which from the looks of it is a real possibility.

“I can’t,” Lucas finally says, quietly. “They’re too far away.”

Tima puts a reassuring hand on his arm. “You might as well try. You don’t know. We’ve all been changing since the Hole. Maybe you can do it.”

“Not you too.” Lucas sighs.

I hate to agree, but the others are right. “Maybe you can warm things up around here.” Lucas raises an eyebrow and Ro stifles a laugh. “You know what I mean. Just try. You never know.”

Lucas gives me a meaningful look and steps forward.

For you, Dol. That’s what it says.

I know how much he hates using his gift; he showed me why on our first day together in the Hole. And I know he never wants to use it—not for any reason, ever.