“Get him out if you can, then meet me outside. Follow the piping,” Ben said, and she heard him move away.
That hurt more than anything he could have said. He left her there in that place when she needed his help. He didn’t care about her. All he cared about was a fight he’d lost a long time ago.
Hazel stuck her head in the duct and saw nothing but blackness. “You there?”
“Yeah,” Randy said. “Who’s there?”
“Nobody. Relax. Pretend you’ve been sucked under by a wave. Let your body go limp and take in a deep breath.”
She heard the duct pop as it flexed.
“I moved a little. Hang on.”
Hazel waited in the darkness as Randy worked himself free. It took an hour, and he was dripping blood and covered in dirt and rat shit when he emerged empty handed for his efforts. She went to hug him and then thought better of it.
“Grab the stuff and let’s get out of here,” Randy said.
“About the stuff.”
“What?”
“My grandfather was in here and he took it from me,” Hazel said.
“Great,” Randy said.
They followed the pipes out. It was slow going in the dark, but as they got closer to the entrance hole, the darkness thinned and they went faster.
They exited into the midday sun, and Hazel rinsed the crud off her face and hands.
“Here he comes,” Randy said.
Hazel looked up to see her grandfather stalking through the shallows toward them. She scowled when she noticed he no longer carried their salvage. A small crowd had formed on the beach behind him and people were coming out of their shacks.
Ben went right by her and grabbed hold of Randy. “Where’s your pa, boy?”
“Shit don’t mean shit,” Randy said.
Ben slapped him hard and Hazel yelped.
“That all you got, old man?” Randy said.
Ben glared at him and said, “If I catch you with her again, I’ll kill you.” He turned, grabbed Hazel by the wrist, and marched off toward shore, dragging Hazel through the ocean.
Chapter Twenty
Year 2075, Pass Christian Armory, Mississippi
Tye sat with his back to the courtyard door, soaking in sunrays that peeked over the parapet wall. It was chilly, and his muscles ached and his joints screamed. Six years of confinement had taken its toll on all of them, but he more than the others. According to Tester’s ongoing calculations he’d turned sixty-eight a few weeks ago, April 15th, tax day. Where had the time gone? He’d left on a cruise while on leave, and now he was going to die a prisoner in Mississippi. He hadn’t seen that coming.
Axe’s shock-trained virals always watched, and their unseen eyes tracked him at all times. The walls of his prison were climbable, but took great effort and skill, and getting to the top had gotten him shot in the leg. With no medicine, it had taken six months to recover, and his leg still hadn’t healed right. Despite this, the climb hadn’t been a total loss. He’d seen across the top of the armory and learned the reason they occupied the courtyard. Their portion of the prison was surrounded by the viral’s space and the maze of hallways and locked doors Milly took to get to the courtyard passed through the Uruk’s prison. The courtyard had five doors; the one they used and four others that were locked and unbreakable. They led into viral territory, so he didn’t see the point of trying to get them open. Without weapons and as weak as they’d become, he didn’t see a way they could fight through.
Tye’s head ached, his eyes hurt, and his legs weighed a thousand pounds each. The same walls, the same food. Nothing to do but fantasize about home, about the people they’d left behind. Rain clouds gathered overhead. April showers bring May flowers.
Jerome had taken ill and died last year, but Tye lost track of when. Every day blended into the one before and the day after. Wake and go sit in the courtyard, wait for Milly. Eat, sit, sleep, shit, and repeat. The food was good, and he moved around, but mentally he was as sharp as a cloud.
Tester and Ingo still thought they’d make it to the final guidestone, and they chortled and laughed like life in the armory was a waiting room outside a big party, and soon they’d join the fun. Axe had taken everything from them, including the map and book containing the calendar information, but Tester had pointed out neither mattered. They knew where they were going, and Tester continued his tracking of the days via etch marks in a stone wall behind a cabinet.
The prisoners spent most of their time outside in the courtyard, though there was nothing there except a few straggly shrubs, a table, and some chairs. They kept track of the stars, scratched games in the dirt, told tales of home and before The Day. The interior of the armory was large and dirty, but they had running water and a toilet and shower.
Tester was a tough old bird, but Robin and Ingo weren’t doing well. Robin had hidden away within herself. The confinement had worn them all down beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Tye remembered his days on the battlefield, and they’d been harsh and gruesome, but fast. Imprisonment was a game of the mind, a long con, and after six years of being caged, Tye was losing his grip, and Robin teetered on insanity. Ingo refused to get caught up in the doldrums. Instead, he talked endlessly of the turtle, not eating or sleeping enough, and wasting away. He preached how their imprisonment was just part of the turtle’s master plan, and that everything would work out. He described his vision of the five of them standing before the turtle over and
