Page 71 of The Infinite Glade
“Flaring justice, flaring justice, flaring justice . . .”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Hissing and Haunting
The air got colder and colder as they walked deeper through the tunnel system, into the depths of the mountain. Ximena’s flare had long burned out, but tiny lights had started to appear in the ceiling of rock, illuminating the way. Before long, things smoothed and refined, became more manufactured. In a slow transition, they went from rough-hewn rock to finished interiors with tile, wallboard, even carpet. Eventually, they reached a round lobby with multiple paths that came and went from a single entry point. An empty desk sat in the middle, not so much as a chair to accompany it.
Tiny shadows bounced across Cian’s face as he entered the lobby. “Here we are.” He set the air tank at his feet.
Ximena had been holding her extinguished flare; she dropped it in the tunnel through which they’d come—just in case they needed to remember how to get back out.
“Which way do we go, now?” Miyoko asked.
“Now, we wait,” Erros replied.
“Where do all these lead?” Isaac walked around and looked into each open arch that led out. Five in total.
The tunnels were taller than most houses in Ximena’s Village, houses that took a dozen men to build. She wondered how many men or machines it had taken to build all these underground tunnels. Not to mention the world of the Sequencers, the world of the Mazes. It was almost too much to contemplate.
“Why are there so many?” Jackie asked.
Cian answered proudly, as if he’d built the damn place himself. “Different levels for different Sequencers. It’s all very organized. Look, none of that matters. The Senate’s next vote is in a few months, and if we can get one or two of the Senators to come back with us. . . . Well, then we can get the others to vote to rejoin society above. We need them, and they need us.”
Erros didn’t sound so confident. “They aren’t going to want to leave their homes, the only world they’ve known for generations.” He rooted through the box in his hands. “So don’t tell them about anything negative. Cranks, half-Cranks, Hollowings . . .”
“The war with the Godhead,” Miyoko added, “or the Remnant Nation. Basically anything that’s actually true.”
“Definitely don’t say anything about any wars or Nations,” Erros snapped at Miyoko, completely missing her sarcasm.
Ximena took the opportunity of a distracted Erros to grab her backpack away from him. He pulled on it as if it were his, acting like a child. “We need this!”
“I’ll give you the Cure, but the rest is mine.” She zipped open the pocket where she’d tucked away the Cure, then pulled it out. The all-important, world-changing, blue-tinted vial. She held it in front of Erros and waited for him to take it. It certainly didn’t feel like anything special to her. . . . It felt more like Kletter’s knife: a weapon and nothing else.
“That’sthe Cure?” Jackie asked.
“What did you expect?” Ximena waited for Erros to take the stupid thing, but he only stared at the vial. The part of her that had spent years of her childhood inside a glass pod so the Villa could perfect their Cure wanted to squeeze the vial as tightly as she could. Squeeze until the glass broke in her hand and the liquid spilled on to the ground. “Take it already . . .”
But Erros backed up from her with a look of fear that had come out of nowhere. He tilted his head toward one of the pathways.
“What?” She lowered the vial, then heard the sounds. A familiar clicking and whirring noise echoed down one of the darkened tunnels, though it was hard to tell from where, exactly.
“Here they come,” Cian said. “Now, listen. Don’t be scared.”
Ximena’s body grew heavy. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. Not here, not now.
She stuffed the Cure into the backpack, put it on her shoulders, then grabbed Isaac’s hand, pulling him in front of Old Man Frypan.
“Hey,” she whispered. “It sounds just like . . .”
The clicking and whirring and other machine-like noises grew louder. She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t need to. She didn’t want it to be true. But nothing had ever burned deeper into her memory than these sounds of?—
“. . . A Griever.” Old Man Frypan said as something in the distance of the tunnels rolled and whirled.
Clicking and clacking.
Hissing and haunting.
The last living member of the Godhead joined a disgruntled Roxy at the center of the Glade.
