Inescapable (Talented Saga #7) (44 page)

“
Holy bananas! You have to
see this, Cressa.” Daphne’s voice echoed on the other side of the
wall.

Even before she crossed the threshold,
Cressa knew this passage was different from the other tunnels
they’d been in so far. For starters, it was over double the width,
allowing Hartley, the Jacobs, Daphne, the twins, and Ritchie to
stand in a straight line across it. The ceiling was much higher,
too—thirty or forty feet, by Cressa’s estimation.

But the most notable difference was the
floor-to-ceiling glass panes on either side of the tunnel. Not
quite ready to see whatever was on the other side of the windows,
Cressa kept her eyes focused straight ahead. Over the heads of her
classmates, she saw a winding metal staircase that stretched
three-quarters of the way towards the rounded ceiling. Three
walkways were attached to the staircase, each one extending farther
down the tunnel than Cressa could see.

“
They’re so cute,” Daphne
cooed, breaking away from the others to press her face against the
glass on the left side of the tunnel.

With that, Cressa dared to look. If Daphne
thought whatever was on the other side of the window was cute, it
couldn’t be anything too bizarre.

It wasn’t. There actually were dozens of
cows, llamas, and horses roaming around in, if Cressa’s eyes
weren’t deceiving her, a pasture. Except, that wasn’t possible,
since they were underground.

Joining Daphne, Cressa studied the pasture
that seemed to stretch for acres. A thick carpet of bright-green
grass covered the ground. There were even apple trees dotting the
landscape, and a bright yellow sun shining down from a cloudless
sky.

So it really is a
farm,
Cressa thought, relieved. This
wasn’t scary in the least. In fact, the animals really were sort of
cute, just like Daphne said.

She was still confused, though.

“
How far down did we go?
Are we still above ground?” Cressa asked the boys.

“
Nope,” Hartley answered
with a mischievous smile.

“
Is this an e-screen?”
Cressa asked no one in particular. She tapped the glass with her
fingernail. A cow grazing nearby cocked its head to one
side.

“
Nope, it’s a simulated
environment,” Hartley replied knowledgeably.

Cressa recalled learning about simulated
environments in her eighth grade history class. They’d been popular
after the Great Contamination.

With the world’s water supply contaminated
by the nuclear waste, farmers had been unable to breed and raise
livestock that was deemed safe for human consumption. Some genius
had created indoor farms as an alternative, with hydroponic
systems, heat lamps, and expensive filtration devices.

“
I didn’t know those still
existed,” Cressa commented.

“
Me neither. This is the
first one I’ve ever seen with my own eyes.” Hartley shrugged. “It’s
probably left over from back in the day. If what Daphne says is
true, this farm might have been part of the original school.” He
squeezed Cressa’s shoulder. “If you think this is cool, just wait
until you see the rest. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Hartley started up the staircase, turned at
the halfway mark, grinned at the entire group, and tipped an
invisible cap. “My name is Hartley, and I will be your tour guide
on tonight’s adventure.” Pretending to be a conductor, he mimed
tooting a train horn with one hand, going so far as to use sound
effects. “Next stop, observation deck one, the frog pond.”

The twins, giggling maddeningly, raced to
join Hartley as he resumed climbing the stairs. Both Jacobs
followed, shaking the metal staircase and making the twins squeal
with delight.

“
Oh, a frog pond!” Daphne
exclaimed. “That sounds neat.” She hurried to join the
others.

Ritchie had one hand on the metal handrail,
but paused before advancing beyond the first step. She turned to
Cressa.

“
Do you think it’s really
a pond?” she asked uncertainly.

Cressa had been pondering that very same
question.

The farm was real, maybe
the pond would be, too,
she thought
optimistically.

Ignoring the niggling sensation telling her
to run, Cressa blew out a long breath. “Only one way to find out,
right?”

“
I suppose,” Ritchie
responded, and then began climbing the staircase.

By the time the two girls reached the first
observation deck, the twins and Daphne were stunned and speechless.
That did not bode well. In the brief time Cressa had known the
other girls, the three chatterboxes had yet to come across a topic
they couldn’t discuss at length.

Steeling her nerves, Cressa walked over to
the railing on the right side of the observation deck and peered
over. Glowing blue tubes running from the floor to the ceiling
caught her attention immediately, distracting Cressa from the
bigger picture.

“
What are those tubes?”
Shyla asked.

“
Electric cages,” Hartley
explained, sidling up next to Cressa. “If the PDs touch one, they
get zapped. I’ve seen it happen—not a pretty sight.”

“
Electric cages?” Cressa
repeated weakly.

That was when she noticed that the tubes
were arranged in square patterns. While there were only about two
inches between each tube, there were larger gaps every six feet or
so. And on closer inspection, Cressa was able to make out
green-clad figures lying inside of each cage.

Gasping, Cressa swayed back and forth,
stumbling back from the viewing window. Hartley rushed to catch her
before she fell on her butt.

“
Are those the dismissed
cadets?” she whispered as Hartley steadied her.

“
Far as I know. I
recognize some, but I haven’t been at the Institute long enough to
know many PDs,” Hartley replied.

“
What’s a PD?” Daphne
wanted to know.

At the same time, Lyla turned an accusing
glare on the boys. “That room looks nothing like a pond.”

One of the Jacobs chuckled. “Nah, it’s just
what we call it, because the uniforms are green. You know, like
frogs.”

“
Yeah, and they’re our
pool of PDs,” the other Jacob added. He directed his next words to
Daphne. “That stands for practice dummies. 7 and 8Ps can sign one
out to practice telepathy and manipulation on. Pretty cool,
huh?”

No,
Cressa thought, bile rising in her throat.
Not cool. Not cool, at all.

Cressa wanted to turn away. The sight was
beyond her worst imaginings. Even though she’d heard the rumors,
and seen Damon Bizon, she wasn’t prepared for this.

How could the Dame keep people locked in
electric cells? How could she keep them locked in cells at all? It
was beyond cruel.

“
I like feeding time,” one
of the Jacobs said. “The PDs are much more active then.” He screwed
his face up like he was about to cry, and when he spoke, his voice
was high-pitched and whiny. “Please, let me out. I want to go home.
Don’t let them hurt me.” He laughed. “Stupid prats. They can’t seem
to get it through their thick skulls that the Dame’s society only
has two types of people: the Privileged, and everyone else. They
couldn’t hack it as Privileged, so they’re getting a taste of how
the other half will live once we take over.”

“
You won’t be saying that
when it’s you down there,” Ritchie shot back.

“
What are you talking
about? I’m well on my way to being Privileged,” Jacob snarled. “I
take my light manipulation exam in two days.

“
Yeah? You think so? Not
if your power keeps fading, Jacob. You and Hartley couldn’t open
that door. If I were you, I’d have a little more empathy for the
people you call frogs.” Ritchie crossed her arms over her chest and
stared daggers at the group. “I’ve seen enough. I’m going back.”
With that, she stomped noisily down the staircase and disappeared
through the doorway.

Cressa considered following Ritchie. She’d
seen more than she could stomach, far more than she’d bargained
for. And yet, she’d only just begun snooping around the Institute.
There were still two more observation decks above this one, and a
part of her did want to know what was on the other side of those
viewing windows.

Knowledge is power,
she reminded herself.
You need to see more.

“
You guys want to see the
source stables?” Hartley asked, as though reading her mind. His
tone was different, though, no longer quite so smug or exuberant.
Apparently, Ritchie’s comments about him becoming one of the
PDs—that couldn’t possibly be their official name—had hit
home.

“
I don’t know, Hartley,”
Lyla began, exchanging uneasy glances with her twin. “Maybe we
should just head to med bay now. The procedure has probably already
started, we don’t want to miss it.”

“
Yeah,” Shyla agreed,
nodding jerkily. “We definitely don’t want to miss it.”

“
Oh, come on, we’re
already here. You at least need to see the stables,” Jacob
protested.

“
Look, guys, I get it,”
Hartley interjected. “Seeing the PDs is disturbing the first time.
We come down here a lot, so we’re used to it. These goons,” he
cocked a thumb towards the Jacobs, “forget they both had nightmares
after our first journey down in the tombs. The PDs were once us.
And yeah, we could become them. That’s scary. But the sources,
they’re traitors to our kind. They were born with abilities, yet
they refuse to join the Dame’s cause. They’re naive enough to
believe that peaceful coexistence is a good thing. They don’t
understand that they were born superior to the norms, and they’re
wasting their gifts by not using them to help Privileged-rule
happen.”

“
Stupid gits,” one of the
Jacobs muttered.

“
Their stupidity is our
salvation,” Hartley said pointedly. “They are undeserving of their
talents, which is why the Dame transfers their abilities to us—the
worthy.”

At the start of Hartley’s speech, Cressa had
started to like the boy a little bit more; he at least seemed to
appreciate how unnerving this all was for newbies. Hartley’s last
comment, however, made Cressa reevaluate her stance. It wasn’t that
Hartley’s beliefs were all that fantastical. In fact, they were in
line with the Institute’s manifesto. The issue for Cressa was
hearing the Dame’s objectives spelled out in such black-and-white
terms.

Or, maybe I’m just finally
realizing the scope of what the Dame is doing,
she thought miserably.
What
I’m
doing.

Turning on that frigging light had truly
been an eye-opening experience for Cressa. Part of her wished that
she had failed her exam and was still a 1P, allowing her to remain
both ignorant and innocent just a little while longer.

“
I want to see this source
stable,” Daphne was saying when Cressa tuned back in to the
conversation. “Gracia will be in surgery for hours. The mods she
needs will take all night. We have plenty of time. Besides, I’m
more interested in the final product.”

Lyla and Shyla rolled identical big brown
eyes.

“
Whatever,” they chorused
in unison.

With the majority of the group in agreement,
no one asked Cressa’s opinion. And when the group started for the
second observation deck, she followed without comment.

It can’t be worse than
those electric cages,
Cressa told herself,
shuddering.

As she climbed the stairs, Cressa gave the
frog pond one last sorrowful look, her thoughts and prayers with
Damon Bizon. Since the PDs were all asleep, and therefore lying on
the thin cots inside their cages, she was unable to differentiate
one from the next. Still, Cressa knew Damon was in there somewhere,
likely sobbing into his pillow and dreaming of a home that was lost
to him.

At the second landing, Hartley stopped and
spun to face the group, causing a mini backup on the staircase.

“
Just remember, the
sources are traitors,” he warned. “I know their situation seems
dire, but they deserve much worse. If the Dame didn’t need them,
they’d be dead. So don’t feel bad for them.”

Why did he have to say
that?
Cressa wondered, her imagination
immediately going into overdrive.

But nothing she envisioned was worse than
the reality Cressa soon faced.

There were no cages inside the source
stables. Instead, row after row of men and women on hover gurneys
filled the room above the frog pond. There were dozens and dozens
of them, all lined up with little space between the gurneys, save a
few wider walkways. Each source had tubes protruding from his or
her mouth, nose, and arms, making them look more like misshapen
insects than humans. Many of them had their eyes open, staring
vacantly at the ceiling above. Doctors navigated the rows of
gurneys, stopping at each one to check the source’s vitals on the
monitor and make adjustments accordingly.

Bile rose again in the back of Cressa’s
throat, this time making it all the way to her mouth. There were no
words to describe her absolute and total revulsion. The frog pond
paled in comparison to the source stables. Cressa wanted nothing
more than to run back to her room and hide beneath her covers, like
when she was little and had bad dreams about the boogeyman hiding
in her closest.

By the age of seven,
Cressa understood the boogeyman was a fabrication of her
overzealous imagination. But this nightmare was utterly real.
Looking at the people—yes,
people
, not sources—hooked up to
machines that stole their blood while they lay in a
medically-induced state of sedation, neither sleeping nor awake,
Cressa believed the boogeyman was very real. She even had a name:
the Dame.