The Isle (24 page)

W
e failed.

Like ants, we climb down the black spiral staircase. The Cloud bobs in the distance, tethered to the rocks, waiting. We're all so quiet there might've been a death. In a way, that's not wrong. Only it wasn't a person, it was an idea. Tiny and perfect, not yet met with the future. It was hope.

We failed
.

I hate those words. Ren wouldn't think them. She doesn't allow it. Since the first time I saw her sneaking off to the races, she's been that way. Maybe that's why she always succeeds.

I won't fail, then. I won't accept defeat.

“We're not leaving,” I say, halfway down the dam. “I want
to know where the extra water comes from. Did you see the magistrate's face when I mentioned it? I thought he felt guilty about not sharing, but that couldn't be less true, clearly. So, if he's not guilty about that, what
is
he guilty of?”

“You think he's hiding something?” Ter asks as both he and Callum skip stairs to catch up.

“It's the only answer that makes sense.”

“The entrance to the distributary was heavily guarded,” Callum says, glancing back at the dam. “I'm not sure how easy it'll be to investigate.”

We need another way in. . . .

A gust of wind takes my hair, and I stifle a sigh. I imagine what it will look like at midnight—someone pushing the button: The aqueduct opens. Hundreds of gallons of reservoir fresh surge into the winner's city.

I look around, but all I see are stone and stairs, and the river forking ahead of us. The cusp of a brack waterfall flows white.

A waterfall . . .

At Nale's, we used to get holo time, when she'd replay old cartoons and movies. Characters were always hiding doors behind waterfalls. Even Robin Hood did it, and he was a fox.

Scrambling to the bottom of the stairs, I leap over rocks to cross the river. Once on the opposite bank, I race downhill, looking for a side view.

A
crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch
stops me in my tracks. I duck behind a boulder and freeze as a beam of light carves up and down the woods.

Patrolling the nearby grounds is a ranger—he's making
his way uphill, boots trampling the underbrush. Scanning downhill for more of them, another light catches my eye. About a hundred feet off, a woman sits inside an outpost flush with the treeline. Behind it, deeper in the woods, I spot a fenced area—it's dimly lit, but I can't tell if it's being patrolled.

Then I realize this side of the river is dotted with outposts . . . all hidden just deep enough in the woods that they're invisible from the river.

Only one directly faces the waterfall, though.

I'm onto something . . . and I'm trapped.

“Aven! Where'd you go?” Ter calls from a rock in the middle of the river.

The patrolling ranger shines his light on him. “State your business!” Inside the outpost, another ranger stands and peers through the glass to get a better look.

My chance.

Staying low, I scuffle downhill, dragging dirt and twigs under my feet. I don't slow until I'm directly in line with the outpost. To my left, a ravine drops at least fifty feet into the river below. To my right, the ranger. She casts unsure glances in Ter's direction.

As I inspect the waterfall, gusts of brack spray my face—I'm looking for an arc wide enough to fit a pathway.

All I see is the ravine. No path.

A yellow beam cuts across the grass just inches from my feet. I turn
—I'm too close to the waterfall
—but the ravine's right behind me; there's no place to go. The light swings closer. Without thinking, I avoid it. . . .

I step backward into the ravine.

My heart races, drugging me with adrenaline. I cry out, but it's swallowed by the rushing water. I wait for gravity to catch me and throw me down, but—

I'm not falling.

I've landed on . . .
glass
? A thick, clear ledge extends wide enough to walk along. My burning muscles shake with relief, calmed by the waterfall's cool drizzle. Choking on laughter, I crawl along the path, too shaky to stand. When it narrows, I have no choice; I pretend I'm walking a roof gutter or doing a balancing act for the circus. Soon it's barely wide enough for one foot, but I find a handle drilled into the gray rock face. Brack spray clings to my eyelashes and wets my lips, salty. Spotting a gray camouflaged door, I begin to feel heady, like I can do anything.
I was right.

I touch the handle.

Then I read the sign.

Emergency Exit. Alarm Will Sound.

There's a keypad to the door's right—it locks electronically. I can't get in without the code. My stomach curdles.
Of course it's locked.
Turning back, I follow the ledge, but I don't cross onto the bank—I've already made it this far.

Instead, I type a message:

           
Found the emergency exit, but it's got an electrical key-code lock. Any ideas?

As I wait for Ter's answer, the ranger stationed by the tree draws semicircles with her flashlight. The beam passes over
the river and the waterfall, through the woods, then swings back over the waterfall again. I flatten myself, cheek to the glass, letting it pass me by, and wait for what seems like hours. They have to come up with a plan, I know . . . but the glass is cold, and the water is cold. I begin to shiver, so I curl into a ball. Finally, my wrist buzzes.

           
Callum's going to distract the rangers while Benny figures out a way to cut the power. He thinks he knows where they keep the circuit breaker. And I'm finding you.

As I type my reply, a second comm follows:

           
Where exactly are you?

I explain as best I can and press send, wondering about Callum's distraction. Creeping closer to the bank, my teeth chattering, I get a better look.

I don't have to wonder long. Downriver I hear the crack and sizzle of a dart fired into the air. Just one at first, but Callum must be on the move. Every few hundred feet, he fires another, then another.

In the sky, electric nets burst like blue fireworks as dozens of flashlights come out of the woodwork. About half are ordered to follow the noise while the rest stand their ground, scanning the forest—I watch the lights converge on one spot, then race off in a different direction. My stomach twists. . . .
Don't catch him.

Behind the outpost, a gray-haired shadow zigzags through
the trees.
Benny!
I nearly fall off the glass ledge as I catch him headed for the fenced area—where he thinks they keep the circuit breaker.

The woman in the outpost holds her wrist to her mouth. Rangers line up and down the bank, creating a wall.
But where's Ter?

Seconds later, he comes tumbling down the dirt and diving under the waterfall—but I'm in his way. He slams me, the soles of his shoes smacking into my shoulders. My legs slide over the ledge. Water soaks my DI uniform, freezing me from the thighs down. “Ter!” I yell, grasping for his ankle as my heart plummets.

Ter sits up—grabs me with both hands. “Throw your leg over,” he tells me, grunting, and I do. With one hand holding mine, and the other holding my knee, he pulls me the rest of the way.

Shivering, heaving—I collapse into him.

“Holy hell,” Ter whispers into my ear as he strokes my damp hair. “Holy, holy hell.”

My body warms quicker than it would if he were anyone else.

Then, a quiet hum I hadn't even noticed . . . stops. Along the bank, every outpost goes dark. Ter's cuffcomm buzzes, and we read the message together.

           
You have ten seconds until the generators kick in.

“Yeah, yeah, Benny!” Ter pumps his fist by his side, helping me up as he stands. “You ready?”

I'm soaked to the bone, I'm shivering, and I can't feel my feet.

“Totally,” I say, and take the lead. We walk along the ledge, spines hugging the rock face, until it gets too narrow. Then I grip the metal handle in the wall. “Eight seconds,” Ter says.

Hands stacked on the knob, Ter laces his fingers over mine. I feel him against my new skin in a different way, in places that are decidedly not my hand. The back of my neck. My belly button.

He looks at me, and it's like being wrapped in a blanket of grass.

We twist the handle.

T
he emergency exit door swings open without a sound.

Ter flips on his comm light and we step into a completely dark corridor carved straight through river rock. We fly through it, about two hundred feet, when we reach another door—

DISTRIBUTARY CONTROL CENTER

The keypad on the right is dark. We crouch and hear confused yelling from the other side. He opens the door an inch, and we glance into another pitch-black hallway. Someone else's cuffcomm casts white light on a small room with dozens of blank screens.

“Dammit!” a woman says, slamming her hands against a darkened switchboard. “Why the hell aren't the generators on?”

“They're coming, any minute now. You know there's a
delay. Jack, why don't you find out what's wrong before Lil here throws herself over the dam?”

They must be the aqueduct switchboard operators.

Each of their cuffcomms buzz.

Tapping Ter's shoulder, I point to a tiny room across the hall. As quietly as possible, we tiptoe across, ducking under a counter and exhaling. His heart beats so fast I actually feel it bumping against my skin.

“Shit, you guys. Something's going on. Something big,” the other man says, reading his message. “Jack, go check the hall. We may have a break-in on our hands.”

Moments after Jack disappears into the corridor, blue overhead lights buzz on and a muted glow fills our tiny room. Ter and I tuck ourselves in the darkest corner. Across from us are maps—backlit black glass atlases outlining the entire Falls region. At least ten aqueduct lines snake out in neon green from this very dam, including the one that leads to the UMI. Most branch southeast, which makes sense; the Wash Out hit coasts the worst, affecting both groundwater
and
reservoirs.

“Thirty to midnight,” the man behind the switchboard says as the door to the corridor swings open and Jack reappears. “Let's get started.”

I grab Ter's arm and we slide even further under the counter. Jack takes his seat watching rows of screens.

Signs line the topmost row:
Engle
,
Bergen
,
Orange
,
Pelham
,
UMI
, and other places I don't recognize. The Engle duct is being aired right now—
BROADCAST
is illuminated in red, over its row.

Every other screen watches a different section of its city's aqueduct. But under
Engle
only half the screens are on.

I scan the other cameras.

Inside each city's duct, leftover water pools at the bottom. And at the end of each row, I see in red lights:
WEIGHT: 0 gallons
.

This is how they do it
, I realize.
This is where the surplus comes from—leftover water.
The weight reads zero gallons in the duct, but right there, I'm seeing it's not true. There's not a lot of water in there now, but after decades and decades, it would add up . . . wouldn't it?

I poke Ter in the shoulder and mouth to him what I've just discovered. He points to my cuffcomm, trying to tell my something.

“Video it,” he whispers, and he taps his wrist.

A recording.
Wiggling off my comm, I adjust the settings. Then I aim it at the switchboard, making sure it's in view of every screen. I zoom in on the Engle row.

“Hello, Engle,” the woman says, tapping her headset's mic. “We're commencing delivery of your fifty million gallo—”

Before she can finish, the distributary goes dark.

I grab Ter's hand—
this isn't good.

Red strobing lights tucked into every corner click on, sparking my heartbeat to life. An alarm sounds.

“This is not a drill. Remain where you are. Commencing lockdown of all aqueducts and distributary entrances and exits in ten, nine, eight . . . ,”
a woman's computerized voice announces, continuing to count down.

“Holy shit, you guys. The Hudson security cam—”

I peer into the hallway, trying to catch a glimpe of the screen, but it's behind a corner. Simultaneously, both Ter's and my comm buzz. It's Callum.

           
They're here.

“Did you hear that?” the woman asks, and all three of the distributary's technicians stand.

The computerize voice continues her countdown:
Six. Five. Four.

“We gotta leave—we're about to be trapped,” Ter says. Lifting me by the arm, he pulls me across the hall.

“Someone's inside!” one technician yells, just before seeing us.

Ter flings open the door and we sprint back through the rock-carved corridor, racing for the emergency exit. I'm breathing heavily, unused to so much running. As red lights chase us, the countdown continues.

Three.
Ter slams into the door, reaching for the handle.
Two
. He presses down.
One
. It opens. We swing out the door and cross under the waterfall. As we jump onto the riverbank—

Rangers
. By the thousands. . . .

Uniformed men and women take formation up and down the river, camouflaged against the woods. They march in units of ten or twenty, creating barricades with their bodies. Their rifles face the water.

In the distance, Dunn's barge powers upriver. It can't be carrying any more than a thousand—the five hundred
prisoners, and the rest of the DI. Officers in blue fatigues hold position, shooters in hand.

We're outnumbered tenfold at least.

“Hands up!” a woman shouts—the unit of rangers stationed at the outpost turn their guns on us, while a troop of five form a closer semicircle.

They aim for our chests, dead center.