II: BETH
The deserter will be dead before dawn. The dim light of the catacombs make the hurried tracks hard to see, but not invisible. The tunnels have done her in. The hot air is too heavy down here, the smells of death and rot too strong. The foot prints get wilder, more desperate the farther they go.
The tracks are over an hour old by the time I find them. If she's lucky she'll die in the chase, poor kid. If not…
Don't think about it. Hide the backpack. Get out of here.
Bones crumble and dust flies into the air as I shove the pack loaded with food and water into the wall crypt. Art would give me hell if he saw how I was treating the dead.
But then again if Art knew what I was really doing down here, desecration would be the least of his complaints.
He won't find out. At least not until it's too late. Guilt pricks inside me, but I push it back. Art's the strongest person I know, he'll be fine without me.
For what feels like the hundredth time, I look over my shoulder. It's too quiet down here, the silence leaves all my nerves on edge. The deserter led the soldiers in the opposite direction, but safety is an illusion I've learned never to trust.
I work quickly, piling bones and sand in front of the crypt to cover my work. All of my senses are primed for anything out of the ordinary. Only one more day of this. One more day of the constant fear, of the paranoia and lying. One more day until graduation. One more day until I'm free.
As I finish up hiding my stash I feel the air shift behind me. The smell of grass and snow cuts through the stuffy stench of the tunnel. Two seconds is all I have to step away from hiding spot and kneel, examining the ground as if I'm searching for some elusive tracks. Then he's at my back.
"Beth? What are you doing down here?" I can hear the accusation in his voice, practically see him narrowing his eyes at me.
I force my voice to remain level, add in a touch of annoyance to put him on the defensive. "Didn't you hear? There's a deserter loose." I keep my attention fixed on the floor. Beneath the silver mask that covers me from forehead to jaw, my face should be unreadable. But Art and I have been together almost every day for the 14 years we've been training at Dyad, he can probably hear me thinking.
He comes around me silently and I look up into his eyes, as dark and unreadable as usual. My mask sits atop my face, separate and foreign, hiding my features as well as my expression. But Art's mask clings to him like a silvery second skin, and I can see every slight furrow in his brow as he looks down at me. Relax, Beth, I tell myself. Stay calm, you're just looking for a deserter.
"She didn't come this way." Art says, suspicion lacing his words. "Tony took an auxiliary compound of the East Watchtower and into the Northern Tunnel. Do you think they'll catch her?"
Aux soldiers, though not as highly trained as Legionnaires and nothing close to Masks, are still merciless hunters. "Of course they'll catch her." I fail to keep the bitterness out of my voice and Art gives me a hard look.
"The cowardly scum." I add lamely. "Anyways, why are you awake? You didn't have watch this morning." I'd made sure of that.
"Those bleeding drums." Art looks around the tunnel, "They woke the whole school up."
The drums, of course. Thundering the news of a deserter, alerting everyone that all active units were to head to the walls. Art must have decided to join the hunt. Tony, my lieutenant, must have told him which direction I had gone. "I thought she might have come this way." I turn away from my hidden pack. "Guess I was wrong. I should go catch up with Tony."
"As much as I hate to admit it, you're not usually wrong." Art cocks his head at me, smiling. Once again that familiar feeling of guilt washing over me, punching at my gut. He'll be furious when he learns what I've done. He'll never forgive me.
Doesn't matter, you've decided. I can't turn back now.
Art traces the dirt on the ground with a dark, steady hand. "I've never even seen this tunnel before."
A drop of sweat slides down my neck. I ignore it. "It's hot and it reeks." I say, "Like everything else down in this hell hole." I want to add "Come on, let's get out of here." But that would practically scream that I was up to no good. I run a hand through my hair, fingers snagging when they reach the ponytail.
Art traces my blurred footprints, following them somehow to the crypt where I stowed my bag, to the bones piled in front of it. He's suspicious, and the air between us is suddenly tense.
Damn it. I need to distract him, fast. He stares at the crypt and I can practically see him figuring it out. If he sees the pack and guesses what I'm up to, I'm dead. He might hate doing it, but Topside law demands that he report me, and Art's never broken the law in his life.
"Beth-"
I prepare my lie. I just wanted to get away for a couple days Art. Didn't want to worry you. Just needed some time to think.
BOOM-BOOM-boom-BOOM
The drums.
Without thinking I translate the separate beats into the message they are meant to convey. Deserter caught. All students report to center courtyard immediately.
My stomach sinks. Some naïve part of me hoped that she would at least make it out of the city. "That didn't take long." I say. "We should get going."
I make for the main tunnel. Art follows behind me, as I knew he would. When the drums call, he listens.
I wonder what he would say if he knew what I was really doing in the tunnels.
I wonder how he'd feel about my hatred for Topside.
I wonder what he'd do if he found out his best friend is planning to desert.