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“WHAT’S WRONG?” AMOS hoped his voice didn’t betray his anxiety. His heart pounded in his chest, and he suspected the trembling in his hands was not a result of his rain-dampened clothing.
He was the tail guard in their tiny procession, following Sheila and Jane, with the Colonel leading the way. Their path led them roughly halfway around the outer edge of the Citadel’s windowless ground floor, following one of the phosphorescent trails.
A sharp turn to the left had brought them down a short passage, to the door of the armory.
But no further.
Amos heard Garr’s fingers tapping the keypad, over and over, to no avail. Amos kept a careful watch on their back-trail—he knew his role. But his curiosity was killing him, coupled with a sinking feeling of dread which he knew all too well. The numbing twilight inside the Givers’ stronghold was broken—barely—by the spider-web trails and digital fireflies outlining the armory door.
Jane shifted beside him, jarring him in the ribs for the umpteenth time. Neither she nor Sheila uttered a word, but he sensed their tension.
A lifetime supply of Hoarder weapons on the other side of this door. He sighed in frustration. And they might as well be a thousand kilometers away.
His hand sought the knife at his belt by instinct, and he grimaced with silent annoyance when his questing fingers met with nothing.
The glowing trail beneath him flickered—on, off, on, off—as did the blinking lights outlining the armory door. A moment later, the same pattern was repeated. On, off, on, off.
Without warning, the meager light source winked out, plunging the Runners into darkness.
None of them moved, each drawing shallow breaths as they listened for any betraying noise. It was Garr who broke the strained silence.
“Someone’s changed the codes,” he whispered, frustration evident in his voice. “Nothing else makes sense. I double- and triple-checked the list I copied from Connor. The codes have been altered—it’s the only explanation.”
“Should we try to find the other team?” Sheila whispered back. Amos found it disturbing to hear her voice, so close, and yet be unable to see her. “What if their security codes are obsolete as well?”
Amos felt another jolt as Jane’s elbow jammed him in the ribs again, hard. He felt her breath on his cheek as she hissed in his ear. “There’s someone else here—I can feel it.”
Amos felt the hair on the back of his neck crawl. He felt it, too. They weren’t alone.
Twin beams flared red in the corridor, blinding after the oppressive darkness. A pair of Trackers stood side by side, no more than two meters away. The glow of their scanners gave them the ghostly appearance of disembodied heads, floating in mid-air.
The optical illusion was short-lived. There was a flickering in the floor, and the lights returned, revealing the full extent of their predicament.
The taller of the two Trackers stepped forward, hefting his rifle into firing position. He cocked his head to one side, eyeing them. To his left, the second Tracker raised his weapon. The Runners were trapped, pinned against the unyielding armory door.
Mateo spoke first, his greeting terse. “Good welcome, Colonel. And to your team, as well. The Givers are expecting you.”
Logan advanced to stand beside him, his stoic expression all the more ominous in the eerie light. He kept his weapon trained on the captives, his eyes cold.
Amos glared at them, defiant. He heard Jane’s slow, steady breathing next to his ear. He knew her well enough to know when she was about to explode.
If you want us to beg for mercy, forget it. His heart skipped a beat, expecting the worst.
“I’ve got a theory about who changed the codes,” Garr said heavily, ignoring Mateo’s welcome.
“On your feet.” Logan’s voice was robotic and distant. “They’re waiting.”
Amos refused to comply, waiting for Garr’s lead. Sheila and Jane did the same. It’s your move, Colonel.
Mateo lowered his weapon a fraction. “Colonel, you should advise your team against any ill-conceived gesture of final defiance. Consider the facts. You are unarmed, while our weapons are the best the Givers can offer. In addition, twenty Trackers now surround the Citadel.”
Logan remained silent, his expression unreadable but his weapon speaking with eloquence.
The Runners held their positions. Garr matched Mateo’s gaze, stare for stare, unflinching.
It was the Tracker who broke the stalemate. “Logan and I—Trackers in full control of our enhancements—are more than a match for the four of you. The most logical choice would be to do as we say.”
He aimed his weapon at Garr’s head. “I will not ask a second time.”