Chapter 83: The Shelter

Ben lit the first flare. The red light hissed, casting demonic shadows on the concrete walls.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"No," Lucia said, her voice shaking. "But let's do it anyway."

Ben tossed the flare toward the support beams. Then he uncapped the kerosene can and threw it.

The explosion was immediate. A wave of heat rolled down the corridor, followed by the deep, structural groan of the mountain shifting. The lights flickered and died, plunging us into the red-tinged darkness of the emergency strobes.

"Now!" I yelled.

We ran. Not away from the fire, but toward it. Toward the atrium.

I kicked the door open.

The main cavern was vast, a cathedral of rock and steel. In the center, on a raised platform, stood Martha. She was surrounded by men in tactical gear—the Board's private army.

And behind her, lined up like cattle, were the teenagers.

The Twelve.

They were awake. Dazed, terrified, huddled together in hospital gowns.

"Sarah?" a voice called out.

It wasn't one of the kids. It was the man standing next to Martha. He was older, wearing a suit that cost more than my life.

"Get them!" he shouted, pointing at us.

The soldiers raised their weapons.

But then the mountain groaned again. Louder this time. A crack appeared in the ceiling, a jagged lightning bolt of white rock. Dust rained down.

"The roof!" Ben yelled. "It's coming down!"

Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic.

The soldiers hesitated, looking up at the fracturing stone. The Board members scrambled for the exit—the elevator shaft on the far wall.

But Martha didn't move. She stood her ground, staring at me across the chaos.

"You can't destroy this!" she screamed. "It's history!"

"It's a tomb!" I shouted back.

I ran toward the platform. Not for Martha. For the kids.

"Move!" I yelled at them. "The tunnel! Go to the tunnel!"

They stared at me, frozen.

"Go!" I grabbed the nearest girl—Subject 4—and shoved her toward the door we had come through.

That broke the spell. They ran. A stampede of white gowns, fleeing the only home they had ever known.

Lucia and Ben herded them, pushing them into the corridor, toward the drainage shaft.

But I stayed.

I had to make sure they all got out.

I counted heads. One. Two. Ten. Eleven.

Where was twelve?

Subject 12. The boy from the mine.

I scanned the room. The soldiers were fleeing now, abandoning their posts as chunks of rock the size of cars began to fall. The elevator was jammed with suits.

Then I saw him.

Subject 12 was standing by the control console. He wasn't running. He was typing.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, running toward him.

He looked up. His face—my face—was calm. Serene.

"Locking the door," he said.

"Which door?"

"The elevator," he said. "They don't get to leave."

He hit *Enter*.

Across the cavern, the heavy blast doors of the elevator shaft slammed shut, sealing the Board inside. Their screams were cut off instantly.

"Now," Subject 12 said, turning to me. "We can go."

"The roof is collapsing!" I yelled, grabbing his arm.

"I know," he said. "I calculated the stress points."

He pointed to a small, unassuming door behind the platform.

"The service hatch," he said. "It leads to the air filtration system. It comes out on the peak."

"Why didn't you tell the others?"

"Because they wouldn't fit," he said simply. "The shaft is narrow. Only two can go."

He looked at me.

"You and me, sister. The alpha and the omega."

"What about Martha?" I asked, looking back at the platform.

Martha was still there. She was clutching a briefcase—the samples, no doubt—staring at the sealed elevator. She was alone.

"Leave her," Subject 12 said.

"No," I said. "She has to answer for this."

I ran to the platform. The ground shook violently, throwing me to my knees. A support beam crashed down between us, separating me from Subject 12.

"Sarah!" he yelled.

"Go!" I shouted. "Save yourself!"

I crawled under the beam. I reached Martha.

"Give me the case," I said.

She clutched it tighter. "It's mine."

"The mountain is falling, Martha. Give it to me."

She looked up at the ceiling. A massive slab of rock was tilting, ready to fall.

"It was perfect," she whispered. "We were perfect."

"We were people," I said.

I grabbed the case.

She fought back. She clawed at my face, her nails digging in.

"You ungrateful little—"

*Crack.*

The slab fell.

I dove.

I rolled off the platform, hitting the concrete hard.

The slab crushed the platform. It crushed the chair. It crushed Martha.

Silence.

Then, the roar of the fire in the corridor.

I was alone. Subject 12 was gone. Ben and Lucia were gone.

I looked at the service hatch. It was blocked by debris.

I looked at the main door. Fire.

I looked at the elevator. Sealed.

I was trapped.

But then, I saw it.

In the corner, where the wall met the floor. A grate.

*Drainage.*

Not the big tunnel. A smaller one. A overflow pipe.

It was tiny. Maybe eighteen inches wide.

I dragged myself toward it. I pulled the grate free.

It was dark. Wet.

I pushed the briefcase in first. Then I squeezed my shoulders through.

It was tight. Terrifyingly tight. The walls pressed against my ribs, scraping my skin. The water was icy, rising to my chin.

I crawled. Inch by agonizing inch.

The mountain groaned above me. The weight of the world settling.

I crawled until my hands were raw. Until my lungs burned.

And then, I saw light.

Pale, gray light.

The end of the pipe.

It opened onto a cliff face, fifty feet above the river.

I pushed myself out, gasping for air.

Below me, the river churned, white and angry.

I looked at the briefcase. The legacy.

I could drop it. I could let it wash away.

But Leo needed marrow.

And these were the only samples left.

I clutched the case to my chest.

And I jumped.