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DAWN ARRIVED, BUT IN name only. The skies remained gray and threatening, but aside from an occasional sprinkling, the rain was held at bay. Aubrey was grateful the loose stones underfoot were dry as they scrambled over them.
The wind was another matter. The storm clouds just off-shore were menacing, and a stiff breeze preceded the storm inland. The wind carried the unmistakable tang of sea-salt as it lashed against them. Amos’s voice grew hoarse as he continued to urge, encourage, and cajole them to keep moving.
A stronger gust lashed against Aubrey, pushing her off-balance. Low tide won’t wait. It’s like the Givers arranged for a storm at just the right time.
She shook her head, banishing the thought. You’re trying to keep a rein on your imagination, remember?
“How much further?” Megan raised her voice against the howling wind. Like Aubrey, she’d corralled her long hair inside her hooded sweatshirt, knotting the drawstring under her chin. “I can see the waves breaking on the shore ahead.”
“We’re almost there,” Amos replied, pausing near another of the endless series of rocky outcroppings. “Just around this next corner.”
You’ve said that before—at least three times already. Aubrey braced herself against the rock wall. “How far are we from the Enclave?”
The wind snatched her words and reduced them to shreds. Her voice sounded thin and fragile in her ears.
“It’s just over there.” Amos waved one hand to the north. “We can’t see over the edge of this escarpment, but it’s roughly fifty meters from where we’re standing.”
Fifty meters. That’s all? Aubrey shivered, and not entirely from the cold. Steady, Aubs. You are not the weak link.
Amos pulled her with him as he rounded the corner. The ocean wind lashed at them as they left the relative shelter of the small cliff.
They’d taken no more than four or five steps when Amos halted without warning. Aubrey collided with him, scraping her cheek on the rough fabric of his rucksack.
“Good welcome, Amos.” Mateo’s voice was distorted by the salty wind, muffled by the pounding surf, but he sounded genuinely pleased. “I’ve been waiting here for some time. I see you’ve brought young Aubrey with you, and Megan. Excellent.”
“Where have you been?” There was nothing warm in Amos’s response. A low rumble of thunder offshore seemed to echo his angry challenge. “Your disappearing act is starting to get old.”
Mateo squared his shoulders, his expression one of mild consternation. “Doctor Simon gave the order for me to vacate the infirmary. I took her suggestion to heart—in my own way. It was only a matter of time until you brought a team to this entry point. It was logical to wait here.”
He stepped closer, ducking his head to ensure they heard him above the wind and waves. “We did discuss this during the briefing.”
“I heard Garr’s strategy,” Aubrey interrupted, unwilling to be a mere spectator. “You made pretty good time getting here, didn’t you? We’re a long way from the Hub.”
Mateo raised an eyebrow, as if the answer to her implied question was blatantly obvious. “I am a Tracker.”
“His enhancements work. That means he’s fast,” Megan said to Aubrey, pushing to the forefront. “Your experiment worked—I can talk. Now, let’s get out of this storm and into the Enclave. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
Mateo nodded, looking pleased. He led the way, scrambling over the sea-drenched stones, taking care to avoid the slick green vegetation uncovered by the receding tide. The Runners hastened to follow, driven by the threat of the storm.
Mateo crouched low, disappearing beneath one of the seaweed-draped outcroppings. Amos shucked off his rucksack, holding it before him with both hands as he awkwardly followed in Mateo’s wake.
Aubrey splashed into the ankle-deep seawater, sliding her rucksack off. She bent down and shuffled into a narrow passageway, the rucksack clutched to her chest.
She raised a cautious hand over her head, flinching away from edges that stung her fingertips. So warned, she ducked her head to avoid the barnacle-encrusted ceiling. For once, I’m glad to be the shortest person in the group.
Mateo handed Amos a battered lantern. Amos hastened to light it, and the warm glow dispelled some of the darkness in the confined space. The air was heavy with the reek of sea-borne flotsam, but the howl of the wind was muted. Even the pounding surf seemed lessened.
Don’t kid yourself, Aubs. The tide’s already coming in. The ocean is not your friend.
Megan splashed past Aubrey to stand beside Amos. She looked troubled in the lantern’s meager glow.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, nodding at Mateo.
He stood with his back to them, unmoving, before a barnacle-encrusted wall. Aubrey could make out the oblong shape of a doorway in the shadows beyond him. A circular handle, with four spokes, was set in the center of the hatch. Amos lifted the lantern higher, its flickering light casting the portal into sharp relief.
The door’s outer rim was discolored, blackened, as if it had been burned in a fire. The surface was puckered in places, the bubbles of molten metal now hardened into a solid mass. Amos tried the handle. It shifted slightly, perhaps a centimeter or two, but no more.
“It’s been welded shut,” Mateo said bleakly, retreating to his instructor’s voice. Aubrey felt her throat constrict. I’ve never seen that look on his face before.
“We’ve been cut off.” Amos stared at the fused portal in disbelief. “They knew we were coming.”