In school, we were taught that the bodies of the first batch of Carcinogen victims were sent out to sea. They’d lied. Here were the real bodies. The real corpses. Not out at sea, not burned, not buried. No, the people who had done this must have wanted something more—something symbolic. So they’d built the empire’s capital on catacombs created from the victims’ corpses. They built the Light House on top of the bodies—as a symbol, to those few who knew, that the Federation was standing not because of the people it saved, but because of the people it killed.
The Federation didn’t rely on Indigo at all—it relied on the careful cultivation of fear, lies, and the deaths of its people.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway just ahead. I lifted the light and saw a girl my own age, her head cocked to one side. Her eyes stared back, unblinking and glazed—she was blind.
I raise a finger to my lips, hoping Kindred and Sparky were smart enough to remain quiet. The blind girl might not even notice we were there. We could escape.
“Well, hello there!” Kindred called to the girl. “What’s your name, dear?”
This was why Phoenix didn’t let her into the field.
The girl leapt toward Kindred and pressed a knife against her neck. “You have three seconds to explain how you got in here before I slit your throat.”
Chapter 40
“Three seconds,” the girl said again. Blood appeared where the knife dug into Kindred’s throat.
“Kindred Deer!” she shouted. “My name’s Kindred Deer! Put the knife down—PLEASE—sweetie. I don’t mean you any harm.”
“Don’t call me sweetie,” said the girl. She cocked her head in our direction. “And the others?”
“You can hear us?” I asked. “But we didn’t say anything.”
“Well, you just did. I had a feeling someone was there.”
Sparky slapped my arm. “Nice going, KB.”
The girl smiled. “There’s two of you?”
I punched him in the shoulder. “Nice going, Sparky.”
The girl shrugged. “I could hear you breathing anyways.” She pushed the knife harder against Kindred’s throat. “Now, names.”
“Sparky Stratcaster.”
“Kai Bradbury.”
The girl shook her head. “Not possible—he’s dead. The Feds got him yesterday. Your real name?”
Kindred coughed. “Could you—uh, dear—loosen the knife a wee bit? It’s a bit sharp on my throat and you see—ah, perfect, thank you, dear—his real name is Kai Bradbury. He’s the one and only. He’s got the cheeseburger socks to prove it.”
To our surprise, the girl suddenly lowered the knife. “Friend,” she said, stepping in my direction. Kindred ran and hid behind a pillar, then jumped back when she realized she was pressing herself up against human skulls.
Again, the girl spoke to me. “Friend.”
I stepped back. “Uh, friend?”
She nodded. “Charlie said you’d be my friend.”
Something leapt in my chest upon hearing someone say Charlie’s name again.
“She said her friend Kai would be my friend, too.”
Charlie was still alive, and this girl knew her—she’d know where to find her and how to get us there, too. I wrapped my arms around the girl’s shoulders. She patted my back.
“Friend,” she said again.
I nodded. “Friend.” The girl might’ve been blind, but she knew how to navigate the darkness. In Phoenix’s world, that was a good thing. If we were going to save Charlie and the others, we’d need this girl’s help.
I grabbed Kindred’s and Sparky’s hands and put them into the girl’s. “They’re friends, too.” Tim smiled and pressed one claw against the girl’s hand. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she took it and shook it gently.
“Wow,” she said. “S-so many new friends. So many new friends at once.” She caught her breath and muttered quickly. “I can burp my ABC’s.”
I had no idea what to say, so I just sort of smiled and nodded.
“How excellent!” said Kindred. For the first time, I was glad she was in the field. “Perhaps you can tell us your name, too?”
“Sangria Penderbrook,” the girl answered, “but I prefer Sage.”
“Then we shall call you Sage!” said Kindred triumphantly.
“Before today, I only had one friend—Charlie Minos. But now I have four—or, uh, five”—she clearly wasn’t sure yet what to make of Tim’s handshake—“and I think that’s quite a lot.” Then she closed her eyes and started to burp. “A—B—C—”
“Excellent start!” interrupted Kindred. “You will definitely have to show us more later, dear. But first, make us wait. Suspense makes everything better, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sage sort of nodded. Evidently, she wasn’t used to people interrupting her, or maybe just listening to her in the first place.
“We’re searching for our other friends,” said Kindred. “Maybe they can become your friends too? How does that sound? You could have four more new friends for a grand total of nine friends. Now wouldn’t that be extraordinary?”
Sage nodded—she was shaking. The thought of having nine whole friends was too much for her. She might have been my age, but whatever they’d done to her in here must have stunted her maturity.
“But we’ll have to be careful,” said Sage. “They’ll kill you if they see you. People aren’t supposed to be down here.” She paused. “Should I continue my ABC’s now?”
“No, no, dear,” said Kindred, shaking her head. “Suspense—that’s where the real show is. Keep us in suspense, dear! And while we’re letting the suspense build, we can get you some more friends.”
Sage nodded, and without another word, turned and headed down the tunnel. The rest of us looked at each other, shrugged, and followed.
Sage clearly knew the layout of the catacombs well. As she guided us along, she explained that she’d been through them many times. Once, she told us, they made her bury someone down here, but she was young, and started crying. After that, they hadn’t asked again.
Eventually Sage led us to a brick frame and a metal door, which in turn led to a series of mazes and corridors. We were lucky Sage had found us. We’d never have made our way out if she hadn’t.
Sage’s room was on the Light House’s lowest floor—the basement, between the kitchen and the hall that led to the catacombs. The room was the size of a closet, with only enough room for a cot wedged between two walls. Before we moved on, I turned on the extra VLF I’d borrowed from Bertha’s workshop and prayed it would work as well for us now as it had in the Ministry.
“The kitchen staff is asleep,” Sage explained. “There won’t be any guards until we get out of the basement. Charlie’s on the eleventh floor, in the holding cells.”
“And the others?”
“If they didn’t come here by choice,” she said, “then that’s where they’ll be too.”
We snuck past the first floor’s guards with surprising ease—Sage knew their routines well. She had us avoid the elevator and take the stairs, saying it was less likely we’d run into guards that way. But just as we reached the second floor’s landing, two guards pushed their way in. Sage hurried up the steps ahead of us, but Kindred, Sparky, and I were caught at the landing.
The first guard, a fat man, eyed us up and down. “What’s this? You fancy a stroll?” he asked.