Page 73 of The Infinite Glade
Isaac felt like they had nothing to lose, now. He steadied his feet below him and aimed the gun at the body of the Griever, clicking and whirling its body, closer and closer. When the Griever crawled close enough for Isaac not to miss, he pulled the trigger.
The bullet ricocheted off the beast and Isaac shot again. Ximena started firing as well.
Bullets flew, the sound of the gunfire echoing in the lobby of tunnels, but the Griever kept moving, now looming over Isaac and Frypan. Ximena walked backward toward Jackie and Miyoko.
“Stop!” Cian ran over, struggled to pull the gun out of Isaac’s hands and a rogue bullet fired, hitting a tank of compressed air. There was a loud pop; the tank turned into a missile that launched toward Frypan and hit his walking stick, breaking the thing clean in half.
“Just stay still!” Cian yelled over the squeal of air rushing from the tank, the metal scrape as it dragged its last bit of life across the tile floor.
The Griever creaked and whirled closer. Why hadn’t Cian and Erros said anything about these things being under the earth?Isaac didn’t have many hopes left, but one had been to never see one of these monsters again. Frypan had a look of lost wonder as the Griever mechanically lifted itself even closer to them. Isaac held his hands out protectively in front of Ximena and Frypan, as if that would do a damned thing.
“Maybe if we move slowly toward the exit . . .” he whispered.
“It’s got . . .” Frypan looked at the Griever without blinking, without moving, obviously traumatized by his past. “It’s got a mind of its own . . .”
The Griever screeched a tremendous and hideous noise at Erros, who had flattened himself against the wall of the lobby. The monster’s top, slug-like parts formed into a head, lurching out to smell Erros before moving on to Isaac.
Jackie screamed his name.
The mechanical beast seemed to suck up every cubic inch of air in front of Isaac; he held his breath. Somehow he already knew what would happen next—the Griever lifted its metallic arm, pulled back, then shot forward and stabbed him in the neck with a thin needle.
Isaac yelped, flinched, fell to the ground—more in shock than from the quick and sharp pain. The machine clicked in rapid succession before moving several feet away from him. The pain stung, getting worse, like a burn from hot metal in the forge back home. He struggled to stand up, but worried that if he collapsed or moved too much, the Griever might attack him again for good measure.
Dizziness swept through his body. He fell to his knees, completely unaware that he’d ever actually made it to his feet.
“Isaac . . .” Ximena pulled on his arm to help him up. “Isaac, come on. Please. You can do this. We’ve got to get out of here . . .”
“Glory to the Gladers of Old, forever and forever.” The words fell from Old Man Frypan’s lips like a prayer. Isaac’s heart raced just as quickly as his spinning mind. Metal twisted and clanked from all around them, the whirring of machinery filled the air.
Five more Grievers walked out, one from each of the connecting tunnels.
Isaac blinked but he couldn’t trust his eyes.
“Get up! We’ve got to go!” Ximena pulled him to his feet, then back toward Jackie and Miyoko. The five Grievers moved in some kind of horrific synchronicity, in a militant march toward the islanders.
Isaac knew they’d never outrun these things. Pure fear paralyzed him, swallowed his will to survive. The others seemed to have given up as well. Isaac could only stare as one Griever’s arms and legs rolled and tumbled forward, stabbing Cian and Erros in their necks as it moved.
Then its hideous, bulbous, slimy head turned its attention on Frypan.
The Griever moved toward him. All of them did.
“Yes, the Godhead sits among you, but so does the Great Master!” Alexandra was stretching now, thinking of anything and everything she could say to save her skin. “It’s me.”
“The Great Master?” Roxy muttered, but the soldiers behind her fell still.
They had probably never, not once, ever heard something so blasphemous to their ears.
Alexandra had them right where she wanted them. They would be under her power, soon—falling in line and taking orders within a matter of moments. She could make Mikhail’s entire army her Evolutionary Guard.Brilliance. The Evolution would always provide the way, the path, for her.
“The Great Master has no face,” an Orphan soldier spoke up, his face almost comically stern.
“And thatis the very reason I never showed my face in the Golden Room of Grief.” Alexandra paused, proud of the immense training she had poured into her voice.But had she said it correctly?Golden Room of . . . something.“Because your eyes betray your training. You look at me, now, and think that I can’t possibly be the one ruling the Nation?” She glared at the soldier to his left. “What should I do with this denier?”
The soldier appeared wary as she looked Alexandra up and down. “The Great Master would never wear a Pilgrim’s cloak.”
“What better way to know the enemy than to blend in with them?” Alexandra stared deep into the young orphan’s eyes. 21, 34, 55, 89 . . . “If you lift my cloak and check my wrists you’ll see the Remnant symbol tattooed there. The exact symbol that’s etched into the walls of the Remnant Nation and the Golden Room.” She waited while the soldier hesitated. She finally loosed the tie on Alexandra’s wrist and pulled her sleeve up.
“There’s nothing there.” The orphan flushed, worried thatshehad screwed up somehow. It was working, indeed.
