Sneak (24 page)

“But in Acheron?”

Hans shrugged. “I’ve heard different things. None of them fit.

Hard to know what’s true, if any of it even comes close.”

“One man came through here once, whispering of a story he’d

heard about Acheron poking the eyes out of its prisoners. Letting them wander around a whole big space, free to move about . . .

but totally blind.” Tabitha shuddered just thinking about it.

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“That’s so cruel,” Hailey said. “Why in the world would they

do that to someone?”

“Who knows? Another man came through here once, and
he

had quite a different take on it. Said Acheron keeps its prisoners in tombs. Said Acheron keeps those tombs hot. They suffocate

the people inside—or practically, at least—with a fire all around them.”

“Yet
another
story,” Hans added, “is that Acheron dunks its prisoners in a pool of boiling tar and then feathers them. After that, the people are free to roam the prison, but . . . how free is that?” He looked at Hailey now. “Cruel . . . it would appear that
cruel
just barely begins to describe the stories of what Acheron does to its prisoners.”

Logan was hyperventilating now, listening to this. Involun-

tarily, he laid his head on the table, sighing audibly and feeling light-headed. The thought of Lily being blinded, burned, tarred and feathered . . . it was too much. For the first time, he wasn’t sure he could face what had been done to his sister.

“It’s awful, no doubt,” Hans said. “There’s isn’t much of a way to sugarcoat it. And Tabby and I . . . we have a feeling all this might just be the beginning.”

“What do you mean, ‘the beginning’?” Dane asked.

Hans sighed. “Warfare, environmental destruction, the

Mark, the Inclusion, governments unifying under Cylis . . . any of that sound familiar to you?” He stood and walked to a side

room, to a little library with a single shelf of paper books. He pulled one out and brought it over, laying it gently on the table.

When Logan looked up, he recognized it right away. It was the

same as the book Bridget gave him back at the underpass. It was a Bible.

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“I expect you kids haven’t heard much about what this book

has to say. But it’s all in there. Friends . . . I’d suggest it’s time you start getting your things in order.”

Logan’s head dropped back on the table, a dizzying tunnel

vision setting in.

“Hans, you’re scaring them,” Tabitha said gently.

And Hailey put a hand on Logan’s back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she

whispered. “I’m sure . . . I’m sure Lily’s okay, all right?”

Logan nodded, but he didn’t at all believe her.

“Come,” Tabitha said, holding the pillows out. “That’s enough

stories for one night. Tomorrow . . .” She looked at her husband.

He nodded. “Tomorrow we’ll get started on that boat.”

3

Grandma knew she had to be quiet if she was going to get away

with it. She led Mrs. Phoenix up the outside staircase of the

Langlys’ house, and then the two of them snuck into Mrs. Langly’s study on the eleventh floor.

“My daughter’s had this stuff set up for years,” Grandma

whispered. “Satellite dishes, meteorology tablets . . . and look here.” She walked over to the corner, picking up a wire that fed out through the window. “A radio antenna. She uses it to listen to electricity in the air—to track thunderstorms apparently. But we”—Grandma grinned now—“I think we could use it for something else. Dianne—you and I could
broadcast
.”

“I don’t know about this . . . ,” Mrs. Phoenix said. “Didn’t you say your daughter’s up here all the time these days? What if she catches us?”

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“She won’t! It’s true Charlotte spends her days here, but at

night she’s out like a light.”

“Even so . . .”

“Oh,
come
on
, Dianne! This is our chance. Shoot—even
you
kept listening to that dead station all week! If Hailey’s still tuning in,
this
is our way to reach her. We
have
to try! I can’t even sleep at night, I’m so guilty over this thing. All those times we condemned that stupid Mark program . . . Dianne,
we’re
the ones who turned these kids into rebels. And now that they’ve finally listened to us, we abandon them? No! We have to help! Don’t you want to know

where your daughter is? How she’s doing?”

“Of course I do,” Mrs. Phoenix said. “Desperately.”

“Then let’s do this. Let’s tap into their network. My daughter and son-in-law are sick of entertaining me anyway—they’d
love
it if you came over each night. We’ll just wait for Charlotte to retire each evening, and then we’ll slip up here undetected. We can
do
this. I’ll take us live, and you be the voice—it’s perfect!”

Mrs. Phoenix was smiling now, picturing it. “I’ve always hated the sound of my own voice . . . ,” she said.

And Grandma smiled too. “Any chance I can take that as a yes?”

4

The mansion at the end of the drive was even more inviting from close up. It was huge, sprawling out in a pre-Unity style, with shutters outside its windows, powder blue clapboard, columns on the front porch, and two chimneys, smoke rising pleasantly from each stack . . .

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Tyler was the first one to the door. He rang the bell before the rest of the Dust had even caught up.

It was a short wait for an answer.

“Whoever could that be?” a woman’s voice called from inside.

“I’ve got it,” another voice said, speaking with an accent Tyler didn’t recognize.

“But at this time of night?”

A man’s face peered through the window. Then he smiled and

quickly stepped to open the door.

“Well, blimey . . . ,” he said. “Rivergoers, honey!” he called back into the house. “A whole group of them!” He grinned, and he let the Dust inside.

Peck, Joanne, Blake, Tyler, Eddie, Meg, and Rusty all sat at a dining table that could have easily seated ten more. It was long and ornate, a beautiful, polished wood with a shining gloss. The chairs were high backed and plush with red velvet on the seats and arms. The room by itself was bigger than the footprint of most houses in Spokie.

“Welcome to the Rathbone home,” the woman said from

across the table. “This is my husband, Mr. Rathbone, and our son, Winston. Say hello, Winston.”

He did, though some part of him looked uneasy about it.

“Honestly, at sixteen you think he’d have better manners,”

Mrs. Rathbone said to her husband, and Winston rolled his eyes.

“We’re so glad you’ve joined us,” Mr. Rathbone said quickly,

eager to change the subject and gesturing kindly to the group.

But Tyler practically gasped when he did. Mr. Rathbone was a

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handsome, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, with dark hair, a strong chin, deep, dark eyes . . . but Mr. Rathbone was missing his right hand. He smiled and picked up his fork with his left.

There was food on the table, and lots of it. Fresh apples,

oranges, grapes; a pumpkin and an apple pie; turkey legs and sliced turkey breast; juices and sodas and milk; a large salad bowl . . .

The Dust had never seen a spread quite like it. Meat was barely eaten anymore, ever since the collapse of the farming industry during the States War, and unless it happened to be in season and close by, fresh fruit was nearly impossible to find.

But not for the Rathbones.

“You’ll have to excuse our appearance,” Mr. Rathbone apolo-

gized. “We would have tidied up, had we known we’d have guests.”

The Dust looked around, confused. The entire house was spotless.

“Your home is beautiful,” Joanne said quickly. “We are . . .
so
grateful to you for taking us in.”

“Well, there’s plenty of room for everyone,” Mrs. Rathbone

said. “We have more than enough beds.” And the Dust stared at

her for a few long moments. It had been years since the group had had beds to sleep on, or even anything somewhat resembling a bed.

Meg and Eddie had more recently come from homes, so they at least remembered the feeling. But for the others, the idea itself was a long-forgotten luxury.

“I get top bunk!” Tyler yelled loudly.

And Mrs. Rathbone laughed. “Oh my . . . there are no bunks

here. You’ll each have your own room.”

Tyler sat with his mouth hanging open.

“We can’t imagine how hard you all must have had it, making it here.” Mrs. Rathbone said. “We are . . . a long ways from the nearest community.”

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“We know.” Blake nodded.

“But I’m sure you’ve all thought enough about such unpleas-

antries,” Mr. Rathbone said. “Where are our manners? Please.

Everyone. Let us eat.”

The Dust felt as though they’d stumbled into a dream. They’d never tasted such good food, they hadn’t been so warm and comfortable in months, and they hadn’t felt so welcome since their short stay with Papa and Mama Hayes at the farm.

“So how does a family like you end up in a mansion like this

out in the middle of nowhere?” Tyler asked. Immediately, Joanne shot him a look, but Tyler only said, “What? It’s weird. Am I not allowed to say it’s weird?”

Most of the Dust looked down at their plates, embarrassed. Mr.

Rathbone cleared his throat. Peck looked on with great interest.

“We’d hate to bore you with the details,” Mrs. Rathbone said

finally.

But Tyler just shrugged tactlessly. “I’m not bored; I’m curious.”

Winston snickered over at his end of the table, though he

stopped abruptly when his mother caught his eye.

After dinner, the Dust were shown to their rooms on the second and third floors of the mansion, and sure enough, they all really did have warm beds waiting for them. Several even had their own bathrooms off to the side.

“Food, hot showers, and beds—I can’t believe our luck,”

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Joanne said privately to Peck, just before the two of them retired to their own rooms.

“Neither can I,” Peck said. And then he leaned in, looking

quickly over his shoulder. “Really . . .”

5

Erin rested her head against the window of the train. It vibrated and shook with the motion of the wheels along the tracks. How

much shaking would it take before she couldn’t think as well anymore? Before she couldn’t feel as much?

She had earphones on, and she was listening to music too loud, not even enjoying the songs, but savoring it all the same, since the noise made it harder to think.

What would it take to distract her from what she’d uncovered

in Cheswick’s office at the Umbrella? What would it take to slow her mind down, even a little, just the tiniest bit . . . to stop the racing—constant, furious, maddening—even for a moment?

Nothing
would
, Erin realized.
This
secret
will
drive
me
nuts
until
it’s
uncovered, once and for all. Until the pieces fit. Until it leads me, finally,
back to Logan Langly
.

She didn’t know how it would. Not yet anyway. But on that

cross-country train ride back to her home in Beacon, Erin became quite sure—this secret was the answer.

Logan
would
find Lily. Erin knew that now, in her heart. And Erin would be waiting for him when he did. No matter the cost.

Beside her, Erin’s father sat reclining in his chair. Erin stole a glance his way, looking to see if his eyes were open. They weren’t.

But could she risk it?

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Erin desperately wanted to open her folded tablet, to pull up

the picture she’d taken of the paper she had found in Mr. Cheswick’s office. To study it. To read it again and again. She almost couldn’t believe the things it said were real. It was as if the moment she wasn’t reading them, with the proof right in front of her, they didn’t exist. Because how could they? It was simply beyond reality . . .

But her father was right beside her. The train was a public

place. Should someone catch even a glimpse of that picture . . .

So instead, Erin bit her nails and leaned her head against the window.

She just had to make it home. To her old room. With her old

door that locked.

It would be three days until she made it there.

Three miserable days.

On the way out to Spokie, DOME had splurged on a direct

route magnetrain, so the ride had only taken a day.

But DOME wasn’t feeling quite so generous this time around.

This time they’d chosen, instead, a more “economic” route, outside of the magnetrain grid altogether. Layovers, transfers . . . the works.

Three days until she could read again and again the truth about the IMPS. Until that truth led her to Acheron.

Three days never felt so long.

6

That morning, Michael Cheswick entered his office as he did on any other day. He rode the elevator up to the disk of the Umbrella, greeted the many DOME agents already on the floor, ducked into
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the stairwell at the center of the room, walked up the two flights of stairs into the tip of the spire, swiped his Mark and rode the platform into his small circular room, sat at his desk, and sipped at a nice, hot cup of nanotea.