Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(52)
It makes sense. An adult like Flint can’t just appear from nowhere, but a young man, a supposed orphan moving in with relatives, could insinuate himself more easily into that social milieu. Lachlan is charismatic enough to do it, I think.
But part of me has been building vague fantasies of friendship here in the Underground, and I don’t want to lose him this fast. It makes no sense, but I suppose now that I don’t have anyone of my own I’m more prone to cling to the few connections I make, even if our acquaintance is only a few hours old. I like him, to be truthful. He alternately annoys and enchants me. I want to know him better.
“Tomorrow night, after sunset,” he says. “For now you can learn more about us, and then get plenty of rest before we set off.”
I’m nervous about venturing up into Eden again, and anxious about what I learned about Aaron Al-Baz, but before long I find that the people of the Underground have a soothing effect. I feel instantly at ease with all of them. At home, even. The talk ranges from simple, even trivial topics—my favorite foods, curiosity about the latest fashions aboveground—to impassioned discussions of politics, equality, and freedom. I’m shy and closemouthed for a while, but eventually the air of calmness surrounding me allows me to open up.
Lachlan comes and goes, checking on me periodically to make sure I’m doing okay. Every time I see him I want to pull him aside and tell him what I’ve found out about Eden’s founder. But every time, he leaves before I can overcome my uncertainty. It’s so huge—blasphemy! But he, and Flint, and all of Eden should know the truth.
I’m just talking with an elderly man about deeper caves beneath the camphor tree cavern that might have challenging rock faces to climb, when an alarm pierces my ears. I look around frantically as the deafening noise assaults me, but I can’t see any danger.
All around me, though, the aura of calm instantly evaporates. Those happy soft people are all at once hard and focused. Weapons appear from nowhere. People are running here and there, taking up positions, crouching, aiming . . .
“What’s happening?” I ask, grabbing Lachlan’s arm as he races past.
“Get down!” is all he has time to say before he races off to a nook in the cavern wall, slings a long rifle over his shoulder, and begins to scale the camphor tree.
I still don’t see any danger, but the wailing, pulsing sound of the incessant alarm is drilling into my head. I’m not going to stay cowering on the ground. I don’t know where to run, so I make a quick decision and follow Lachlan up the tree. Instinct says to climb.
He looks surprised to see me following him, but not angry. I wish I had time to enjoy the climb. It is so different from the rock face that it takes me a while to find my rhythm. Near the base I climb using crevices and knots in the trunk. Higher up I have to wrap my arms around thick boughs and shimmy, and then higher still I wrap my legs around limbs and climb with my entire body. It is exhilarating, exhausting.
High in the canopy, not far from the crystal roof he stops, wedging himself in a crook. He gestures with his eyes to a similar spot a little higher up, and I climb there as he settles himself low against the branch, clinging with his thighs as he props the rifle at an angle, aiming toward the main entrance. I can see the doors easily through the leaves, but anyone on the ground would have a hard time singling me or Lachlan out. He has the perfect sniper position.
The Underground is primed for battle . . . but nothing happens except that the dreadful alarm finally shuts off. Lachlan holds his position for another five minutes, and I bite my lip, waiting.
Then there’s a second alarm, a softer repetitive buzz. I see Lachlan’s tense shoulders relax.
“All clear,” he says. “Soon you’ll be given your orders for defense drills, but you did well. You kept out of danger, out of the way, and you can act as a spotter from up here. Good job.”
He slings the rifle back over his shoulder and starts his descent. I follow—and going down is much harder than going up.
“You mean there’s no real threat? This was just practice?”
He pauses in his descent to look up at me. “Make no mistake, the threat is real. The Underground is in constant danger.” He throws a wry smile up at me. “After all, we’re at war.”
AFTER AN EARLY communal supper of simple but delicious food served by the children (trying, and failing, to look very serious), I go immediately to bed. With the mission to find the cybersurgeon waiting for me the next night, I think I’ll have trouble falling asleep so early. On the surface it would be nearly dark, and down here the ceiling panels are mimicking a gentle orange sunset that shines through the camphor tree boughs as I wearily make my way to my chamber.
I shut the door—it has no lock, which is worrying, but I suppose there’s no danger down here, except from the outside, the Above, as they call it. I fall into bed, expecting to stare sleeplessly at the ceiling. But I must fall asleep almost immediately, because the next thing I know I’m in another place.
Part of me knows it is a dream, but somehow that doesn’t make it any less disturbing. I’m walking through a meadow of flowers and tall grass. I can see it. I can smell the green scent that rises as I crush the herbs beneath my feet. It feels completely real. Up ahead I see shapes, low to the ground, and I approach, smiling, thinking they might be animals.
The stench hits my nose just before I can make out what they are. Corpses, human corpses, scattered across the beautiful meadow, their limbs twisted and contorted, their faces twisted in final agony and frozen in place until their flesh rots. Which it is definitely starting to. The scent of the flowers turns sickly, too sweet, and then dissolves into a smell of blood and decay.