Departure(34)

“Okay,” Nick says. “We don’t leave this house until we know what’s going on.” He turns and leads us down the stairwell, even deeper underground, into a large room with concrete walls. What I see shocks me. Yes, Yul and Sabrina know what’s going on here.





20





The subbasement of the farmhouse must have been excavated long after the original structure was built. Instead of rough stone walls, this room is lined with smooth concrete, painted white. There’s no need for candles here: a bright computer panel glows on the far wall just next to a large, arched alcove that holds what looks like a black cab. But there are no wheels under it, only a steel platform. Does it sink into the ground and connect with a rail system?

I bet it does. It’s like a single-car tube station, buried below this farmhouse.

The black tramcar’s long sliding door is open, revealing brown leather couches on three sides and a large wooden table in the center.

Sabrina and Yul turn away from the panel to face Nick, Grayson, and me. The rifle leans against the wall, within Yul’s reach.

Nick breaks the silence. “What is this?”

“We’re not sure,” Sabrina says, her voice flat. Yep, she’s back to normal as well—her normal, anyway.

“I doubt that,” Nick says, stepping closer, scrutinizing the car and the glowing panel.

“Our theory is that it’s a mass transit apparatus.”

“Connected to?”

“Everywhere, it would seem.”

Nick looks up. “You were going to leave us.”

Yul just cuts his eyes away, but Sabrina says, “Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I’ve never been dishonest with you, Nick.”

“That may be, but you also haven’t told us the full truth, have you? The two of you know what’s going on here, maybe what happened to the plane. I think we’re entitled to answers.”

Sabrina opens her mouth, but Yul speaks for the first time. “We don’t have them.”

“I don’t believe you. What year is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yul insists.

“What year do you think it is?”

Yul hesitates. “We believe we’re in the year 2147.”

“Why?”

Yul shakes his head and glances at Sabrina. “This is what I mean: we don’t have time for this. If we start answering questions, we’ll be here for three hours, and we still won’t know any more than we did before. And neither will you—you’ll just be more confused.”

“So confuse me,” says Nick. “Start talking. I want answers.”

“Our answers are mostly conjecture, based on incomplete information. That’s why we’re going to London.”

“And leaving us here.”

“For your own safety.” Yul gestures to his bag. “I believe they’re after Sabrina and me, and possibly what’s in my bag.”

“Which is?”

“Explaining that will take more time than we have.”

Nick pauses, thinking. “What’s in London?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then why go?”

“Because seeing London will give us some idea of what we’re dealing with. Look,” Yul says, “stay here. You’re safer. They may have placed a tracking device on the two of us, and it’s possible they can monitor activity on the Podway.”

So that’s what they call this underground network.

Nick shakes his head. “We’re not splitting up. And you’re wrong: we can’t stay here. We’re out of food. We’d have to venture out just to feed ourselves. It’s only a matter of time before they find us. Finding help is our only hope. You know that as well as we do. You’re looking for answers in London, but that’s not all, is it? You think you’ll find help there.”

“Yes,” Sabrina says. “We have reason to believe we’ll find help in London. Our plan is predicated upon that assumption.”

“If there’s help in London, then we are all going to London.” Nick steps closer to the panel. “Now how does this work?”

“We’re not sure,” says Yul. “We’ve been trying to learn the system before we connect to the network, just in case they can track us.”

“That’s the other advantage to London,” Sabrina says. “It’s a short trip. Hopefully we’ll be far away from this network by the time they’re aware we used it.”

“Makes sense.”

Yul taps the panel. “It keeps asking for a GP, which we assume is a universal identification device, possibly implanted. Its backup is fingerprint ID.” The panel switches to a screen that reads, STEP CLOSER TO THE TERMINAL TO SIGN IN. There’s a small box in the lower right hand corner with text inside it: DON’T HAVE A GP? PRESS YOUR THUMB TO THE SCREEN HERE.

Nick motions for me to step forward, and I press my thumb to the cold surface of the lighted panel. Red letters flash on the screen: NOT RECOGNIZED.

“Try it again,” he says.

Three tries later, the screen still blinks a rejection notice.

Grayson tries his thumb next, with the same result. Not recognized.