Extracted (10 page)

When we get to the door to the rift chamber, I come to a dead stop, trying to swallow the orange-sized lump in my throat before I bid my friends good-bye. They aren’t allowed to go in with me, but they will be allowed to watch from behind the safety glass of the observation room, where Flynn and the other teachers will be. I finally swallow and it feels like a handful of razor blades slicing me as they slide down my throat.

The technical name for the test is the Trials. There is a series of tests that have to be passed before reaching this point, and I’ve nailed all of them, but this is the big one. I will have to make my first unassisted rift, hit a specific mark, complete a task, and return to the chamber—all without being lost in the stream or ripping myself apart. That last bit is trickier than it sounds.

So many things could go wrong that I can’t even count them. I try not to think about them, but every worst-case scenario is rushing into my brain. Without a Tether or some other way to control the rift, I could end up lost in time. I’ve heard rumors about kids who rift the first time accidentally. I shudder, imagining how frightening that must be, just landing in the stream and not knowing how they got there. Even worse, the ones who are lucky enough to find their way out of the stream usually land in some random place in time with no memories of who they were or what they did. It’s those lost children the Hollows like to recruit. Strays, Tesla calls them.

Kara stops. Throwing her arms around me, she squeezes me tightly. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I manage to keep them from spilling over. All I can think is what if I never see them again?

So it’s a good-bye hug. As usual, Ethan joins in, throwing his arms around both of us. We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. Over the large brass door is a floodlight. A chime sounds, and I glance up to see it has turned red. That’s my cue.

“All right, get off me, you saps. It’s time.” I try to laugh, but it just comes out a dry cough. I wave good-bye, and they head up the stairs to the right of the door. Tugging the bottom of my vest, I straighten myself up, run a hand over my braid, and then press my palm to the door pad. It opens with a rickety groan.

The chamber inside is cylindrical, reminding me of a picture I once saw of the Roman Colosseum. But the walls are smooth grey concrete with metal plates like windows hung all around, all the way up to the tall-domed ceiling. In the center of the room is a brass pedestal with two arched handrails. Next to the door is a small wooden table covered with tech.

The months I’ve spent studying how to use it all evaporate from my mind. As I stare at the familiar objects, my eyes begin to lose focus, softening everything around the edges. I’m breathing too hard, too fast. I grasp the table with both hands and lean over, squeezing my eyes closed.

“It’s all right, Ember—take your time.” Flynn’s voice echoes through the chamber. Of course he is watching me. Everyone is watching me. I straighten up, forcing myself to let go of the table. I will not fall apart. I will not be seen freaking out like this. I am a Rom—

The thought explodes like a grenade behind my eyes. I am a what?

I try to recall the name that hovers in the back of my mind, just beyond my reach. But it’s useless and I don’t have time to deal with my neurosis right now. Later, I promise myself.

If I survive this.

Shaking my head, I push it away, all of it, and look back down at the table. The holy trinity of Rifter tech sits on a simple piece of white cloth.

I reach for the Babel Stone ring first. It’s cool as I slip it on my finger. Brass is coiled around a tiny round magnet, with one simple grey stone that looks deceptively like a piece of common gravel set in the side. Such an innocuous-looking thing to give a person the ability to speak and understand any language.

Without hesitation I move to the next object on the table, the Tether, and snap it onto my forearm like an oversized mousetrap. Copper wires and tiny hinges securely hold what looks like a massive watch face. There is a tiny pin with a spoke at the end that allows me to adjust the current date and time.

I run my fingers over the final piece of hardware before I lift it into my palm. It’s the most impressive of the three and the most difficult to conceal. An Earwig. Carefully, I wind the tiny machine over my left ear and pull my long chestnut hair free of the tight braid I usually keep it in. I run my hands through it and shake it loose so it will hide the tech now attached to my ear. Immediately, the tiny spokes and gears of the Earwig come to life with a series of chirps and clicks. Then Tesla’s thick voice rings in my ear.

“Remote Tesla activated. Authorization code?”

I clear my throat before answering, “Marconi is a fraud.”

“Authorization code accepted.” Apparently, being a computer has not diminished Tesla’s heavy Austrian accent or his intense dislike for his former competitor.

I walk on steadier legs to the platform and grab onto the rails, waiting for my assignment.

“I’m ready,” I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

Above me is the viewing booth, a large glass window where the teachers and other recruits are staring down at me. Below that is a series of ornate clock faces and a ticker board with red lights. A series of numbers flashes across the screen.

“This is your assignment, your final test. Travel to this point and make contact with Flynn at the assigned location,” Tesla’s computer voice orders.

I look at the screen. I’m going back to 1996. Not very long ago in the grand scheme of things—less than a hundred years. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I plug the numbers into my Tether and nod.

Closing my eyes, I feel the charge building in the room around me. My hair starts to lift off my head—even the metal buckles on my boots and vest hum. Then I feel a jolt on my arm, the connection to this time being made through the Tether. I breathe out slowly, but inside my head I feel the heat build until it is unbearable, like I’m melting inside. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let go of the rails.

Something isn’t right. The room is different somehow. We have been to the Amber Room before, but this time it feels like there is something missing. Not in the room itself, but in the air around us. There is a void in the time stream, like the air in the room is going to implode on itself. I glance into the corner of the room, searching for the source of my discomfort. A crack that was never there before splinters down the wall. Subconsciously I reach back, taking Stein by the hand as I watch. The crack widens, and a small metal leg struggles through, tearing the crack into a small hole. It emerges like a mechanical chick bursting through an egg. I take the brush and shove it in my pocket. When I look back it’s not just one Gear Head, but three of them making their way through the crack.

“Run!” I scream.

Picking up the ornate chair from the vanity table, I chuck it through the window.

“I really hope Gloves doesn’t need that,” I say, urging Stein out. As I dive out the window behind her, a piece of glass grazes my shoulder. Instantly blood flows down my arm, soaking my sleeve as I fall.

We land on the main deck of the airship. The wind gusts across the steel bow, forcing us toward the railing. Stein grabs my uninjured arm and tugs me to the back of the ship, where long ropes tie it to the rocky cliffs below.

“Why are there Gear Heads?” Stein gasps, leaning forward over the rail. “They weren’t here last time.”

“I don’t know,” I answer, shaking my head. It doesn’t make any sense. Somehow they have tracked us to this place, and I have no idea how we are going to get past them.

I swear under my breath. “How could Claymore miss the disturbance in the time stream?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the Serum didn’t fix the problem and he’s still not functioning at one hundred percent,” Stein suggests, breathing hard. She holds my arm and peeks around my shoulder, looking more freaked out than I’ve ever seen her. She grabs me by the sleeve, “Lex, my Contra. It’s gone.” I glance down and see her vest torn, the pocket where she keeps her Contra hanging open.

“We need to move,” I say, ushering her forward. “If we can get far enough away, you can take mine and go for help.”

She nods grimly. “I don’t see them. Can you see them?”

I’m about to say no, but out of the corner of my eye I see movement. They are coming. And there are so many of them I can’t even count. I look back at Stein; her face is resigned. I nod over the edge to the ropes draped between the giant brass propellers.

“Remind me again how hiding the Amber Room fifty stories above the Grand Canyon was a good idea?” Stein says, climbing over the edge as she speaks.

The Gear Heads are advancing, chewing up the deck with their sharp pincers as they move. Sparks fly off the deck as the little robots rev the saws affixed to their other arms.

“They are going to tear through this thing like a can opener,” I say, clinging to the thick lead.

I look to Stein. A Gear Head leaps to the deck inches from where she holds the other rope. It turns its saw on the cleat holding her rope.

I lurch back onto the rail and swat the machine over the edge. It hits the propeller and red liquid from its domed head splatters across the bottom of the ship.

Cursing Gloves in the most colorful ways we can think of, we coil our legs around the ropes and begin our impromptu descent.

The heavy wind pushes at us as we dangle helplessly. “I don’t think this was covered in the orientation manual,” I say.

Stein laughs. “There was a manual?”

Once we are close enough to the ground, we let go, landing with a puff of dust near the edge of a deep chasm.

I look up to where the Gear Heads are climbing down the ropes behind us. “I’ll cut these tethers. You get the ones over there.”

Steins sprints to the cliff edge to untie the lashes holding the front down while I tackle the ones right around the base of it.

Untying one of the leads in front of a large outcropping of rocks, I pull the other one free from the sand. Just then I hear Stein scream.

“Lex, help!”

I look up and Stein is surrounded by more Gear Heads. They are pushing her to the edge of the cliff. “I’m coming!”

Dropping the last rope, I run to her. I don’t see it happen, but one of the updrafts from the cliff twists the large rope and it somehow wraps around my ankle. I trip, sprawling forward onto my face. As I flail to catch myself, I manage to push one of the Gear Heads right off the cliff. I wrap my hand around a chunk of root, which is poking up from the ground, to catch myself from going over. Dazed from smacking my head against the dirt, I look up, focusing on Stein. She loses her foothold as the Gear Heads drive her back again, and she kicks at them, but they are too quick. She tilts off-balance, falling backward off the cliff.

Screaming, I lunge forward from my knees to see that she’s got a one-handed grasp on a jagged rock just over the edge. I reach out, barely able to snatch hold of her before she slides over completely. She reaches up, trying to get a grip on my arm, but it’s slick with blood and she slips off, unable to get a firm hold.

“Stein, look at me,” I order, clutching her tightly by the wrist as her feet scramble to find purchase on the rocky cliffside. I scream again from the burning pain as my shoulder is ripped out of its socket. She’s not that heavy, but the angle is bad and I can’t make my muscles cooperate.

“Lex, please don’t let go,” Stein begs. She’s gone still now, trying to make it easier to keep my grip on her, but I feel her long glove slipping through my fingers. Her silk top hat has long since blown away, leaving her dark hair to blow free. I redouble my precarious hold on the tree root beside me with my good arm. I slide closer to the edge, scraping my belly along the loose gravel.

A sharp pain rips into my leg, making me scream.

Looking over my shoulder, I see one of the Gear Heads is trying to saw off my right leg. I look away, not wanting to watch the blood as it spurts out of my calf. I kick and wriggle, but it’s no use. The thing has clawed its way into my skin and isn’t letting go. Even as the pain shoots up my thigh, I fight to focus on Stein’s face. Her grey-blue eyes are wide, her face is pale and marred with dozens of scratches, and her hair is now matted to her forehead with blood and sweat. One of the silver rings that used to loop through her eyebrow has torn free, and crimson streaks leak down her face. I start to lose my grip on her.

I will not let you die, I promise inside my head. Somehow the words don’t make it to my mouth, as if saying it aloud is impossible.

“You little—!” I look back over my shoulder, giving my leg another quick jerk. I can’t move very far anyway, as I’m caught in the net-like tether holding the small zeppelin to the ground. If I had my other hand I could fight the little metal monster off, but I can’t let go of Stein.

I won’t.

I kick again, hoping to send the Gear Head over the cliff, but it isn’t enough. It has some sort of pincer attached to my calf and it’s slowly eating through the muscle. I turn and look over my shoulder. The blood flow is slowing to a drizzle. There is nothing I can do.

“Pull, Lex. Pull!” Stein yells, still scrambling to get a grip on me with her free hand. Not commenting on these anymore.

“I’m trying!”

My arms are getting weaker every second. All my adrenaline is gone and my leg—my leg is on fire, the pain shooting all the way to my brain. I can’t concentrate. I can’t lift her. This dawns on me just as my vision begins to blur. I feel a frustrated tear roll down my cheek.

I’ve never felt so weak.

“Don’t let go. Don’t let go,” I chant under my breath to myself, but my mind keeps jumping to that thing on my leg. She looks uncertain.

“Don’t let go,” I repeat. I try to pull, but my whole body is on fire. She knows I can’t hold her. I don’t know what hurts worse—the look of absolute forgiveness on her face or Tesla’s Gear-Faced Pinocchio cutting off my leg.

Can’t it go any faster? I wonder with a half-laugh, wishing it’d just cut the freaking thing off already. I can’t stand the pain anymore. Maybe if it just cuts it off, I can give in to the fog fighting its way into my head. My breathing quickens. Maybe I can just lie here and bleed to death. Anything to numb the agony ravaging my body.